Epíphantos
by Roarri
Summary: AU. The world is in chaos, and the human race is on the brink of extinction. Sam Manson, having spent her entire life in the midst a losing war, is determined to change the world for the better. Ghosts are the enemy, and it is the duty of the Warriors to eradicate them. But when Sam's life is spared by a powerful ghost called Phantom, she begins to question all she stands for.
1. The Heart of Ruin

_ In the light and alive . . ._

* * *

**Epíphantos**

**Chapter One:**

_**The Heart of Ruin**_

* * *

Dawn had barely risen into the ashen sky when Samantha Manson began to make her way through the heart of the ruined city. Her breath came before her in wisps, the wintry air causing her skin to prickle as it kissed her cheeks. She passed by throngs of trash and debris unbothered. Even still, her grip on her ectogun remained unceasing, as was the rigid control she held over her body.

The environment was saturated with its usual dullness, void of all life and afterlife, but Sam refused to allow herself even a moment's respite. Too long of a moment was a recipe for disaster.

Speaking of a moment.

Sam jumped into action; her weapon charged and pointed as a sudden noise from her left offended her senses. Pivoting off her heel, she spun to face her opposition.

—just in time to witness the terrifying sight of an emaciated cat vacate a toppled trashcan, the lid left spinning in the cat's wake. If not for her current position above ground, Sam would have laughed. Instead, she wiped the sweat from her brow. Her nerves trembled from a combination of anxiety and unneeded adrenaline. With another semi-nervous flick of her eyes, Sam continued along the familiar path. She was almost to her destination, anyway.

Having grown up in the midst of the war that existed between the humans and the ectoplasmic entities known as ghosts, Sam was well accustomed to fear. It invaded her system whenever she was outside of the Compound. Above ground. _I__n Amity—_she felt herself shudder, yet it had nothing to do with the chilly air. Gritting her teeth, she pulled the cloak she wore tight around her shoulders, clutched it to her heart, and continued down the beaten path.

Leaning skyscrapers and a hodgepodge of rusted automobiles framed her path as she walked. Grisly brown skeletons riddled the ground like gravel, crunching beneath her boots. But Sam paid no mind to any of this. Her finger traced the trigger of her gun. She remained resolute.

Once the war had drifted into ghosts' favor, the decimation of the material world quickly followed. They'd pushed the tired human race into darkest recesses of the planet, leaving the humans to somehow survive off of an ever-dwindling supply of resources.

_Not that there's many left of us, anyway, _Sam thought morbidly. Even still, with the population as low as it was, there weren't enough resources to sustain them_. _The planet was too ecologically damaged to produce fruits and fodder_. _Human lives now diminished faster than the hue of the once-blue sky. Diseases and other sicknesses were killing them off just as quickly as the ghosts were. Simply put: they were running out of time.

So this was it. Her generation would be the last . . .

This is why Sam intended to live her life to its fullest. No matter how long she had left.

As the winding path before her ended, Sam smiled when the toe of her combat boot dipped into softer ground. No longer cement, but _real _earth. Various patches of yellowed grass were stark against the velvety darkness of soil. Bony shrubs reached with claw-like limbs, while vines crawled high over an upright post. Sam's eyes followed the twisting ivy until it ended abruptly at a sign that read, "Amity Park Recreational Park." It was then she let her guard drop. Though only a little.

Even though she feared this world, it was still better than the one below her feet.

So many of her kin remained blissfully concealed within their underground fortress, the compound, home of the Resistance, and the largest population of humans that remained on Earth. Fear prompted their seclusion. Then again, fear was what prompted everything now. Children grew up with it, were nurtured by it. It was now an integral part of their society.

_But._

Sam refused to give into complacency. She refused to give into her fear. She would go down fighting in a way that could not ever be trounced. So, deathly alone in a world ravaged by spooks that could take notice of her at any moment, Sam threw back her head, raised her hands into the air, and—

She laughed.

Sam twirled. Her boots made divots in the thawed soil. She took a deep breath, one without the synthetic aftertaste of the compound's filtration system, and she loved it, even with the coppery tinge of contamination. Many called the Resistance futile. The final battle had been lost two years ago. The Warriors, the Inventors, the Leaders, the Thinkers—they were told to disband, and many members _did _leave.

But Sam wouldn't.

She _couldn't_.

She would continue to fight with her kin, even if there was nothing left to fight for. She would continue to live, because there's always something to live for.

Laughter subsiding, Sam shuffled about the small perimeter of the park, cleaning up garbage and dusting off rickety old benches. She smiled and cradled her hands around a tiny sapling that was just beginning to make its lazy accent above ground. Her violet eyes appraised it, and then she followed its leafy gaze towards the sky where it desperately searched for sustenance. The sky was its usual green-tinted-grey, slightly hazy, as the sun filtered through the film of ectoplasm within the earth's atmosphere.

Sam's smile turned down at the corners. Then it vanished completely. She looked pitifully at the sapling. "Hope you can make it, little guy," she said.

The night was going to frost, she knew. Yesterday had been warm, she knew. The sapling would not survive. She knew.

A quick glance at her watch told her it was time to go. Releasing a sigh that dissipated in small, wispy rivulets, Sam turned her gaze away as she took stock of her surroundings. She drew her ectogun and balanced it between her two hands, cocked and ready, before moving slowly back towards the winding path.

She had been gone from the compound too long. It would not be long before her absence would be noticed. Her family would worry.

Sam's steel-toed boots hardly made a sound as she crept back to civilization. The walk was not far. Ghosts never entered this part of the city anymore, anyway, located at the heart of Amity. Proud as she was, she liked to think it was because they were intimidated by the sheer strength that was the Resistance, but the omniscient voice in her head told her that was not the case. For some reason, the spooks avoided this area of the city like it was the plague. Why that was, Sam wasn't sure.

And yet, she could never shake the irrational fear that an ominous entity was around her, watching her. She swore she could feel the threads of her life fluttering in the breeze about her, along with her twirling breath.

Sam shook her head to free herself of her obvious paranoia. It was for this reason that she never dropped her guard as she traveled. The hypersensitive ectosensors and scanners at her wrist remained blank, but still.

She paused at a junction where she caught her breath under a dead stoplight, before she pressed on, further into the heart of the city. Of Amity. The historically acclaimed ghost capitol of the material world. One that ironically lacked a spectral entity of any kind.

Springtime air wafted through her ectosuit and saturated her to the bone. She shivered, grateful when she climbed the steps to one of the many abandoned houses lining Main Street. The house itself was a nondescript grey, with a split foundation and dilapidated roof. But what it lacked in structure, it made up for in functionality.

A colorful array of green and red lights blinked at her from an off-white panel box that erected from the floor. Where the kitchen had once been, there was now riveted sheet metal, completely replacing the floors and walls. Directly in front of the panel box was a hinged indentation of thicker metal, and it was there Sam went to stand. She began the process of entering the Compound by hanging the wrist adorning her verification bracelet over one of the many sensors.

The trap door below her feet hummed to life. It lowered her to the bottom level of the house where she followed a set of stairs into a plain white room. There, she pulled down her glove, rolled up the cuff of her jacket, and hovered her tattooed wrist over the last remaining sensor. A door opened. Sam entered an elevator that pulled her deeper and deeper into the ground, into the fathomless world of misery and loathing, of regret and loss, of the last remaining form of human congregation and resistance.

Sam pulled her ectogun to her chest and stared upwards, envisioning a sky that was tinged with blue instead of green.

Had she still been above ground she would have seen a flash of light, one that would have superficially blinded her. Then her ectosensors would have spiked, signifying immense power from an ectoentity in close proximity.

* * *

**EDITED: 12/22/2014 - ALL CHAPTERS WILL RECEIVE SIMILAR UPDATES!**

* * *

A/N: Hello everyone! Welcome to my story! As the line above states, I am in the middle of updating all my older chapters. I don't like how they read anymore. I feel as if I have improved heaps in my skill since I first started this story back in April. If you are a new reader, welcome! Coming back for some epic rereads? Well, I hope you enjoyed the fresh update!

Now, to the newbies. This is a story about overcoming preconceived judgments, as well as relearning a world through once-biased eyes. It is my first fan fiction here, so bear with me! Still getting the hang of everything! Go ahead and continue to the following chapters! But I forewarn you now, I WILL be updating them over the next few days so they are subject to change. Please don't forget to leave feedback! I love chatting with you guys and respond to all the reviews I receive!

Happy reading!

-Roar


	2. Surrounding Walls

_In the light and alive . . ._

* * *

**Epíphantos**

**Chapter Two:**

_**Surrounding Walls**_

* * *

_Two weeks later._

Days came and went within the confines of the compound. Located under the graveyard of Amity Park, it allowed its crumpled inhabitants to a means of survival and protection. Hundreds of feet below the ground, and reinforced with industrial steel walls, the compound was the epitome security.

Sam despised it.

She glared at the surrounding walls. They were a colorless sort of grey, with cracked tiles that seemed to glow bright white under the fluorescent lights. The monotony of the color scheme was marred only by a series of yellowish blotches at the ceiling, trickling along crevices of mortar. Her nose wrinkled at the sight. God, she hated this place.

"You okay there, Sam?" a voice beside her asked.

Sam's glare flicked from one of the offensive yellow stains to her companion, a dark-skinned man whom visibly shrunk when faced with her blistering gaze. He pushed a pair of glasses higher up the bridge of his nose, over his widened eyes.

"I just can't wait until we can get the hell out of here, Tucker," she told him. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the edge of the table. "I freaking hate this place."

She watched his eyes dart sideways, jaw hanging as the surprise etched itself further into the planes of his face. The fork he had been holding was laid forgotten on his plate. "Where the hell did _that _come from?" He looked across the table to her forgotten lunch. "Was there something wrong with your salad, Sam? No need to start a rebellion over it. Jeez."

"I'm not upset about the stupid salad!" she snapped. With an exasperated huff, she grabbed her fork and stabbed ferociously into the pile of greens, not even caring that they were already brown with age.

Tucker stared at her in bewilderment.

She ignored him for a few moments, but when his gaze remained unceasing, her temper flared again. "_What?_" she hissed.

"Sam, seriously, what's up with you?" Tucker asked. "First you space out all through lunch, then you throw a random fit out of nowhere, and now you're taking out your anger on a salad." He eyed her plate warily. "Also, I'm _pretty_ sure that's veggie homicide in the first degree."

Sam stabbed a squashed tomato with her fork and glared at it. "You wouldn't understand."

He raised a brow. "Try me."

"Okay. Fine." She tapped the end of her fork on the table as she contemplated the best way to breach the subject of her anger. How could she put into words the absolute _hate _she felt for the compound, considering they would all be dead without it? It was more than that, she knew, and she hoped Tucker would understand. Of the two of them, _he _was best with words and emotions. "My problem is"—she gestured about the cafeteria—"this."

"What, the décor?"

"No, you idiot!" She pointed her fork in his face. "I hate this place. I hate the way that that we just mope around. We're barely surviving and we're most certainly _not _living! Everyone just assumes we lost this war. But we haven't." Her voice rose in pitch. "We haven't! What happened to our fighting spirit? Why do we still call ourselves the Resistance if we don't resist?!"

Tucker shrugged and smiled wryly. "Maybe because now we're resisting death instead?"

"_Tucker_!"

It was then that Tucker finally relinquished his good humor and sighed soberly. He placed his hand softly over hers, and she let him lower it. Heavy brows darkened his eyes as he pondered her words with upmost sincerity.

"It's only been two years, Sam," he said. "I know you think it was only a single battle, and it _was_, but it was still a huge blow for us. We lost Amity." He shook his head. As a sad afterthought, he added, "And we lost a lot of lives, too."

Tucker Foley was many things. He wore a goofy red beret, was an Inventor's apprentice, and had a passion for anything technological. He was rarely serious, but when he was people _listened_ to him. At one point, before he and Sam had been whisked away into their respective apprenticeships, the Resistance's government had considered him for leadership, but the idea was quickly dismissed. Tucker wore his emotions on one sleeve, and his passions on his other. Even from the beginning, it had been rather obvious where it was he wanted to be in life, which was far, far away from the governmental podium.

His seriousness was enough to ground her. She looked at him almost helplessly. "What are we supposed to do, Tuck? Give up?"

"I think the best thing we can do right now is plan for our long term survival," he said. When Sam didn't respond he took her hand again and squeezed. "I know you think we're giving up, but the ghosts are just too strong for us right now. There are not enough of us to wage war. If we do, it'll be suicide. We need to step back, breathe, and calculate our next move." His lips pursed, and his eyes became dark glistening pools of sadness. ". . . Even if it won't be for a while."

Sam pondered this silently. With Tuck's warm hand still wrapped around her own, she looked around the cafeteria with serious eyes, observed the others as they ate their midday food rations.

Now that she was looking, she could see the desperation in the hunching of shoulders, people barely acknowledging each other with only the quietest of whispers drifting among groups. In the winding corridors that snaked between factions and living quarters, sadness drew their gazes low as they walked with their eyes at their shoes. Smiles were rare while tears were seen frequently, running down the cheeks of childless mothers, orphans, and widows alike. Many of those whom remained were scarred, physically and emotionally, with missing limbs and shattered spirits.

She was seeing the other survivors for what they truly were: the crumbs and scraps of humanity.

Tucker was right. As much as she hated this place, she knew that there was nothing she, nor anyone else for the matter, could do. Everyday children died, families were separated, and their race shrunk in numbers. Flickering like candlelight. There was hardly anyone left to fight. The spooks were ravaging the world above them, and there was _nothing _they could do about it. Not a thing. Zilch. It would be suicide to even try.

Sam bit her lip as realization trickled into her awareness. "Tuck, you're right. I'm sorry."

The seriousness was shattered when Tucker cracked a wide grin. "What was that, Sam? You're _what?_"

"Don't push it," she growled.

"Worth a shot!" Tucker said with a chuckle, still grinning. "I just can't believe I even heard it the first time!" He gestured to his plate and winked at her. "Want some green eggs and ham since you miss that green sun of yours so much?"

Unable to contain herself, Sam's face split into a smile of her own. "Nice try, carnivore," she said.

With the grim reality now drained from their conversation, the two friends laughed together, as if the world was not brimming with death and turmoil. Instead, they were two teenagers, enjoying lunch at a local burger joint. Carefree, and happy. Their laughter echoed along the featureless white walls of the cafeteria, resounded off the ears of other people, whom turned and looked at the pair oddly, some even somewhat enviously. Laughter was not a part of this world. And yet . . .

They laughed until their laughter was interrupted by a shrill bell that rang throughout the room like shattering glass. Chair legs screeched against linoleum in response as everyone in the dining hall stood and began filing out into the corridor, pausing only to deposit their trays on the racks by the exit. Sam and Tucker followed their peers to a large set of double doors, and when it came time for the pair to split paths, Sam spun quickly and caught Tucker's shoulder, holding him steady.

"Thank you," she said earnestly.

"No problem," he replied. "Meet you in the arcade later?"

"You bet."

Once they parted ways, Sam began the long walk through the compound to the faction of her apprenticeship.

Until age sixteen, all adolescent residents of the Compound were required to take mandatory baseline courses to fulfill education requirements. After their graduation of the core program, they could then choose to further their education or go straight to work as laborers. Apprenticeships were offered to those with exceptional talents and skill prerequisites in a variety of fields, usually pertaining directly to the advancement of the Resistance.

Sam and Tucker were among the few from their year group chosen for apprenticeships. Tucker was an Inventor, and Sam a Warrior. They had been in their respective apprenticeships for three years now, and both were on active duty during the great failure of two years prior.

Tucker was responsible for aiding in the development of ectoplasmic weaponry and protection (Sam was proud to say that the weapon she carried was a _Tucker Foley_ _edition_ model.) He had worked amongst his Inventor kin the day their world ended, managing the war from afar but nonetheless significant. It was his unit that had been chosen to initiate the compound, optimizing it as the Warriors began evacuating what was left of the city.

While Sam . . . she _had_ been on the warfront that day. She'd seen it all happen with every gruesome detail. The memories were irrepressible, shining bright like a beacon in the forefront of her mind every time she dared to close her eyes.

The ghostly form of the King of Ghosts slipped before her eyes in a flash. She shook her head to relieve herself from the image of _him_. Pariah Dark, the scourge of the Resistance. The inhibitor of their freedom. It was Dark and his army that had started the war almost fifteen years ago. She had _been_ there the day he stole Amity Park from them, forced them to their knees—and murdered nearly half of the existing population.

Sam cringed as more images began to surface from the day that would forever live in infamy. Images of people burning, screaming; Dark, as he massacred them. She was almost relieved when she reached her destination, grateful for a distraction. The familiar bright lighting invaded her senses as she stepped under a digital sign that read: "WARRIOR TRAINING FACTION."

Her mentor was waiting for her, wrist out, observing his watch and scrutinizing her punctuality. His face was set in a perpetual, sneering frown.

"Good afternoon," she said, bowing her head with respect that she didn't have. Her lip seemed to curl of its own accord.

"Good afternoon to you as well, Samantha," Vlad Masters said. "On time as usual, how grand."

Sam gritted her teeth and forced herself to smile.

.

.

Not much was known about Vlad Masters. He had only recently been enlisted as a member of the Resistance, and already he was high in the ranks as a Warrior Leader. He was cold, reserved, and extremely aggressive. The manner in which he conducted the goings of his life revolved around strict efficiency. He did not mingle with anyone; instead he observed others with an expression as rigid as his posture.

Sam didn't trust him.

They tolerated each other at best. While many Resistance members idolized Masters, Sam saw straight through his transparent façade of rigidity and aloof nobility. The way in which he carried himself spoke volumes in terms of his character: egotistical, prideful, tense—all hinting of a man concealed beneath whom wielded a vault of ulterior motives. Sam could almost smell his deceit.

"Shall we begin, my dear?" he asked.

She set her jaw, nodded, and proceeded to follow him as he led her through the training facility. They passed rows of gleaming exercise equipment, sparring mats, and even a glass room used for cognitive training. Today she faced Masters' golden pupil and former best friend, Valerie Gray. Sam began stretching her lean muscles in preparation by pulling them taut and then working them loose. Stretching did well to sooth her frazzled nerves. A spar with Valerie wasn't something to be trifled with; she was _dangerous. _

Valerie Gray was in many ways just as ruthless as their mentor. She was beautiful, with long raven hair that fell in wavy ringlets around her oval face, and her body was toned and powerful. The red jumpsuit she always adorned complimented the darkness of her skin. Though she admired Valerie in many ways, Sam couldn't stand the depth of Valerie's loyalty for their asshole of a mentor. It was for this reason that Sam would never feel completely comfortable trusting her. So much different was this angry girl who fulfilled their mentor's bidding without question, no matter what it was he asked of her.

She didn't know why, but Valerie was different now. Sam had witnessed her in the field during the few times they had been on raids together. Valerie was extremely vengeful, and _rarely_ did she miss her target, rivaled only by Sam herself.

Standing before Sam on balanced toes, Valerie's sea-green eyes were narrowed and calculative. With her shoulders arced and her fists set, she looked like a lioness ready to charge her prey. "You ready to get your butt whooped, Manson?" she quipped.

Sam widened her stance in anticipation. She knew from past experience that Valerie would attack first. "In your dreams, Gray!"

Valerie shot forward with an aimed shoulder and Sam met her attack with equaled haste. Combatting Valerie's offense, she made sure to hold her ground and maintain a steady center, backing away when the heavier girl attempted to utilize their difference in weight. Sam was slighter in frame, so she attacked with her elbows and knees as Valerie countered with punches and kicks. Valerie was without a doubt much stronger than her, but Sam easily contradicted with her speed.

Masters watched on, seemingly bored as his hand stroked the long whiteness of his ponytail. He allowed them to spar until they were both out of breath and sweating profusely, having reached an obvious stalemate. He signaled with his hand for them to stop. "Job well done, especially _you _my dear," he said to Valerie, appraising her with his shark-like smile. To Sam he said, "Unfortunately Samantha, I feel as if your defense is a bit too loose and your attack a bit too soft. You did well, I suppose, if your intent is to die it battle."

Valerie sent Sam a triumphant look before bowing her head. "Thank you for your praise, sir."

Masters smiled coldly at her. "You've earned it. If _only _Samantha was as loyal as you, maybe then she could finally overcome her . . . weaknesses, hm?" He sauntered away from them and disappeared into the corridor. "Go home, children, I have some things to attend to."

Hatred swam within Sam, boiling to the surface when she met Valerie's smug gaze. The two stood before each other, each girl sizing the other up. Then, without warning, Valerie spun off her heel, causing her dark mass of hair to whip over her shoulder. "You heard him, Manson, go home." She paused, looking over her shoulder under lowered brows. "And if I were you, I would _stay _there."

Only after Valerie disappeared into the depths of the Compound did Sam finally let out a strangled scream of frustration. She stomped her way to the apartment she shared with her mother and father, throwing the door open with an audible _crack. _

She hated him, her mentor. Her previous mentor, Ms. Tetslaff, had been everything to her that Vlad wasn't. Though Tetslaff had been anything but warm, the burly woman had taught Sam everything she knew about being a warrior, a leader, and a prominent member of the Resistance. _Vlad Masters, _however, only seemed intent on setting her up for failure.

Charging into her room, Sam drew a fist angrily over her cheek and wiped away the evidence of her misfortune. She removed her training jumpsuit and pulled on a black loosing-fitting shirt and matching pants, finally feeling her ire beginning to dim. The churning, tumultuous waves of anger now lulled into a calmer sea, ceasing her tears and returning her rationality.

Sam sighed and fell onto the foot of her mattress. She looked about her room, comforted by the blackness of her décor, before allowing her eyes to rest upon a framed picture of her and her former mentor. It was the one of her and Tetslaff at Sam's graduation, right after Sam had been accepted as a Warrior Leader's apprentice. Tetslaff had her arm wrapped stiffly around Sam's shoulders, and both were smiling under the bright sunlight.

She missed this woman. After her mysterious death nearly a year ago, Sam had barely given herself a chance to think about the woman she had come to see as a second mother. She instead threw herself into her training and studies with a vengeance unbound. At least as far as Masters allowed her to. Ironically enough, his constant belittling of her and her abilities had done nothing but strengthen her resolve to overcome the obstacles she faced. Tetslaff had taught her to do that: to overcome her opposition

She stared at the frame, wishing desperately that it was the woman in the photograph leading her apprenticeship instead of the reclusive asshole that was Vlad Masters. Her hands bunched up into fists as her anger resurfaced slightly. _No, _she said to herself, _I'm letting him get to me. Tetslaff wouldn't have wanted that._

In fact, Sam's previous mentor would have been furious. _"Suck it up, girl," _she would have said. _"Hold that dainty chin of yours high and give that pretentious bastard hell. Figure out the game he's playing and destroy him. Haven't I taught you anything?"_

Sam smiled.

She stood, brushed herself off, and walked out into the compound with her chin held high.

.'

.

Sam found Tucker where she always did after his apprenticeship. The pair had grown quite a fondness for Tucker's mentors, the wife and husband Inventor duo, geniuses Jack and Madeline Fenton. three of them huddled around an examining table in the "FENTONWORKS" lab, which featured expertise in both ghost physiology and weapons development.

Smiling when she saw them, Sam paused to rap her knuckles over the open door, signaling her arrival into the lab. The three before her raised their heads in unison, startled expressions morphing into a set of much warmer and welcoming smiles.

"Welcome! Come on in dear," Maddie Fenton exclaimed, running to Sam and enveloping the girl in a bone crushing hug. "It's been nearly a week since we last saw you. My, you look so frail, have you been eating okay?"

Sam laughed, pulling away from the older woman and patting her upper arm reassuringly. "Yes, Mrs. Fenton, I'm fine." She looked over Maddie's shoulder curiously. "What are you guys so interested in over there?"

Maddie's smile only grew wider; she was obviously enthused that Sam was showing an interest in their work. "Why don't you come and see, dear!"

"Yeah, Sam!" Jack Fenton boomed, orange clad arms waving in the air ostentatiously, "You'll _love _this!"

Sam smiled at them, warmed by their welcoming nature. Jack and Maddie were two of the most endearing people she had ever met. Both were eccentric, always bumbling around in their perpetually-worn hazmatt suits, and their personalities were just as outrageous.

Jack, a large man clothed in orange, was a grandiose ghost hunting fanatic who thereby expressed his enthusiasm in the form of ectoweaponry and development. Standing before her now and holding a colorful array of wires and other odd technological assortments, the older man regarded Sam with one of his biggest smiles.

Maddie resumed her position next to Jack, her head leveled at the large man's shoulder. She met Sam's eyes and smiled warmly. Maddie wore a jumpsuit like Jack's, though hers was a much less vibrant blue in comparison to her husband's gaudy orange. Her field of expertise and study was spectral physiology. Over the past decade, Maddie had revolutionized the paranormal science field through her studies of ghosts at a biological and molecular level. Without her research, it was unlikely that the human race would've survived as long as it had.

Maddie raised her hand and beckoned Sam closer to their workstation. "Well come on, dear," she said. "Don't you want to see what we've been up to all day?"

Sam stepped forward, close enough to see the object of their focus. What greeted her was an oddly shaped pair of goggles, complete with flashing lights and lots of protruding wires. Her brow furrowed in confusion at the odd contraption before her. "What is it?" she asked.

Tucker sprang into the conversation after an odd period of silence. "They're ghost goggles!"

"Ghost . . . goggles?"

"_Fenton _Ghost Goggles!" Jack corrected zealously. "Give her the mumbo jumbo talk, Maddie!"

Maddie laughed. "They're specifically designed to detect a ghost's ectosignature by calculating the frequencies given off of their core. It has some ways to go yet, but our hope is to eventually override a ghost's invisibility. These little receptors at each end," she purposefully fingered the little red blinking lights, "will, upon command, emit electrical signals directly into a spectral core and override a ghost's natural evasiveness, literally rendering them tangible. At least while within range of the receptors."

"And that way we can finally rip all those damned _spooks _apart molecule by molecule!" Jack exclaimed, making a show of punching the air in mock aggression.

Sam found herself staring at them in wonder. The ability to render a ghost _both _visible and tangible upon command was unfathomable. It would change the way the Warriors operated, leveling the playing field in the humans' advantage. Her head was suddenly spinning at the idea.

Jack and Maddie were both undeniable geniuses. Though they operated in separate fields of study, they often overlapped to create amazing forms of tracking and hunting equipment as well. Jack's love of weaponry paired with Maddie's knowledge of physiology was unbeatable. They were the leading Inventors in their respective fields, each making revolutionary strides in their work. Sam found them to be utterly amazing. After the deaths of their youngest children, five-year-old twins Daniel and Danielle Fenton due to the war, the duo had dedicated themselves to the destruction of the ghostly species that plagued the material world.

Despite the gray at his dark temples and the lines of sadness etched upon his face, Jack Fenton remained optimistic. After the loss of her youngest children, Maddie had thrown herself first into the raising of her eldest daughter, Jasmine, and then into the goings of her famed studies—and yet, she too maintained an optimism as strong as her husband's. Hand in hand, they opened their hearts to Sam and Tucker, offering an apprenticeship for Tucker and an understanding ear for Sam.

There were no words to describe how much admiration Sam felt for them. Their strength and perseverance was nearly unheard, even as tragedy in the form of two black-haired, blue-eyed fraternal twins sat winking at them from the framed photograph at the top of their supercomputer.

Maddie unexpectedly stepped forward and placed the goggles in Sam's hands. "Here, hon," she said with a wide smile. "We always give you the first of our prototypes and this time is no different."

"Thank you," Sam said, slightly awestruck.

"You're welcome! Let us know how they work!" Jack said loudly.

Maddie's smile faltered slightly. "Alright, it's getting late. You two better go out and have fun." She was suddenly ushering Sam and Tucker towards the door, but before Sam could pull away completely, Maddie's hands gripped Sam's elbow tightly and pulled the girl back so her mouth was at her ear.

"Now Sam," she said hurriedly. "It's no secret where you go when you need a breath of air. Heavens knows I'm jealous of you for that, but I want you to be careful. If these work, _please _don't go looking for trouble." She pulled away, met Sam's incredulous gaze with worried eyes, and then disappeared back into the lab.

Tucker was before her instantly, grabbing her arm and practically dragging her towards the arcade in enthusiasm.

.

.

The approaching evening hours aided Sam in her restlessness. She had spent the majority of the evening in virtual conquest with Tucker, but now that she was finally alone she found herself swallowed by the boundlessness of her imagination. She began to pace the confines of her small room with her hands clutching her new FENTONWORKS goggles, her lip bit firmly between her teeth and nearly drawing blood. The world became small—too small—and the walls began to close in on her, stealing away her oxygen.

Sam had always been a creature of the outdoors. As a child she longed to leave the protective shields of Amity Park and venture beyond the city's borders, exploring the world and surviving off the fruits of the land. The human race's decision to go underground at the brink of their extinction had torn her apart, slowly corroding away her individuality and leaving behind nothing but misery. The world she lived in now was too small and safe for the adventurist she has always been.

She needed air. She needed light. She needed freedom from the artificial hell she lived in.

So, in the cover of night, Sam did the stupidest thing she had ever done (and what would be the first of many others equally stupid). She grabbed her gun, her new goggles, and made her away across the Compound.

The briefest of thoughts flashed within Sam's mind in relation to Maddie's warning—the one about looking for trouble—but Sam, already standing within the confines of the elevator and pulling the sleeve of her jacket over her tattooed wrist, couldn't help but think that trouble had already found its way into finding her first.

Once the doors opened, Sam slipped the goggles over her head—

And proceeded to make her way out of the abandoned house.

* * *

UPDATED: 1/2/2015 - All Sections but last two. (They will be updated at a later date).

* * *

_A/N: Here's another updated chapter. Well . . . half of it is updated. This one got a LOOOOOT of revisions. Those who've been with me since the beginning will notice a big difference. I took out a bunch of unnecessary things. Alright . . . onward to the next chapters! Woot, woot!_

_-Roar_


	3. As Petty as Fear

**UPDATE 9/20/2014: THE FIRST FOUR CHAPTERS ARE NOW COMBINED AND UPDATED. THIS IS WHY THE CHAPTER COUNT HAS CHANGED!**

**Thank you for your patience!**

* * *

**Epíphantos**

**Chapter Two:**

_**As Petty as Fear**_

* * *

Not many people were able to understand the intricate tapestry that was Sam Manson's mind. The weaving was done in a way to conceal even the most miniscule of secret fibers, woven deep into the heart of the threads. Sure, people respected her, _feared _her even, but not many people could claim to understand her. They didn't understand the way she carried herself, for example. Why was she so self-righteous, they would ask? They didn't understand that the darkness of her clothing was in contribution to the everlasting mourning of her kin, rather than the gothic front she displayed in her defenses.

The truth of the matter was that even Sam Manson troubled to understand herself. Especially in regards to her actions.

Perhaps it had to do with the rush of adrenaline surging through her system as she ran amongst the ruins of Amity Park. Her freezing breath was before her, wavering icy tendrils that licked her cheeks. The tips of her fingers were numb in her fingerless gloves as she gripped her ectogun, poised and ready for the first sign of trouble. She couldn't understand the hysterical laugh that was bubbling at the back of her throat, forcing its way to freedom.

She should be terrified. But the emotion filtering through her body, dictating the actions of her nervous system and bringing goose bumps to her skin was anything but fear . . .

It was elation.

Sam couldn't contain the smile that pulled the entirety of her face taut, exposing teeth that glinted in the dwindling sunlight. She lived for freedom. To walk precariously along the line that differentiated life and death. She was on mission to waste the ecto-spooks that invaded her world, destroying them and dancing on the dripping ectoplasmic waste of their remains. She adored the morbidity of it, the thrilling rush of ecstasy that pulled her away from the horrendous world of order and safety she was forced live day by day.

She was an unhindered fire as she tore through the city that night.

She sprinted through the winding pathway that led to her park, dilapidated houses and buildings blurring as she passed them. Reaching her destination, she jumped onto a bench and pulled the goggles down over her eyes. They did not obstruct her normal viewing, merely adding the slightest hint of green that barely differentiated itself from the greenness of the sky. She brought her ectogun before her, holding it at ready with her finger brushing over the trigger. With bated breath and a heart that continuously leapt into her throat, she waited.

And waited.

In all the times that she had ventured from the underground sanctuary of hell she knew as the Compound, Sam had yet to come into contact with a spectral entity of any kind. Sure, when she went on excursions with the rest of her Warrior kin along the outskirts of the city's borders they'd met—and destroyed—many. But here, nothing. The silence permeated the air, thick with sarcasm as she stood exposed in the wavering sunset. The city was completely still.

It was unsettling.

Two years ago Pariah Dark had taken Amity from them. He had broken through their shields and commenced war amongst the Resistance. Sam's goggled eyes suddenly began taking in the scenery before her, evaluating the rubble and damage that was a direct result of that failed attempt two years ago. The once prospering city now lay in ruins. Corpses in the midst of their decomposition littered the streets and toppled buildings, rotting and stinking. And to what purpose? Sam found herself biting her lip in anger.

The battle of the spirits and the Resistance had taken place, and the humans had lost. That much she knew. What Sam found strange was that in the few months following the humans' defeat, the spooks had retreated. They had disappeared completely from the small heart in the center of the city, merely lurking along the borders instead. Were they trying to lull the humans into a false sense of security, to draw them out of their impenetrable hole in the ground and destroy them completely? Sam didn't know.

Sighing, she stepped down from the bench she was standing on. The furious beating of her heart settled into a calmer rhythm, allowing her rationality to begin to sync itself with her reason. She looked around once more before she dropped her ectogun from its cocked position. Her ectosensors remained blank, aside from the small twitch of the needle that reacted to the continuous amount of ectoplasm saturating the environment.

What had she honestly been expecting? That an ominous entity of unparalleled power lurked within the shadows, waiting for her to destroy it? If that had been the case she would have died months ago when she first began making regular trips upward.

Everything was empty. Void of all life and afterlife.

Slightly disappointed but yet immensely relived, Sam turned back towards the winding path intent on returning to the Compound. She had only just begun to pull the goggles off her eyes when she saw it.

There it was! Her heart was slamming in her chest.

Suddenly a bright green light invaded her vision as the goggles detected a spectral aura and began the process of rendering it into existence.

Only the most powerful species of ghost wielded the ability to disappear completely, utilizing both intangibility and invisibility to cloak their existence. Until recently, such ghosts were undetectable until they revealed themselves. Most species could be identified immediately by the ectosensors all Warriors had in the form of watch-like apparatuses on their wrists. But the powerful ones with the strongest cores were nearly impossible to track. Rare as they were, _they _were the ghosts that were to be avoided at all costs.

And Sam had run right into one.

She watched in a terrified sort of wonder as the green light latched on to the entity, dragging its form into existence. To her horror, the moment the ghost entered reality, her sensors spiked tremendously, the little arrow swinging from the green zone and into the high red. The readings were off charts, thus causing a shrill beeping to begin emanating from the face of her sensor in a vain attempt to warn her of the impending danger.

Sam scuttled backwards, tripping over her own feet and falling unceremoniously onto her bottom. Releasing a small cry of alarm, she quickly cocked her ectogun into position, suddenly wishing she had brought more to protect herself with.

As the light began to dim a familiar chill crept its away up her spine, one that signified the presence of a spirit. The already chilly air dropped into a temperature that had Sam shivering violently. She clumsily pulled herself to her feet in an attempt to face her foe. Lowering her brows she pulled the most intimidating scowl she could muster.

Only to be met with a sight that turned her blood into ice.

Eyes the color of pure, untainted ectoplasm entered her vision, glowing furiously in the permeating darkness of night. A tumultuous wave of shock white hair hung before its eyes and over a humanoid face of unbridled rage. The ethereal glow surrounding it almost had Sam squinting in its sudden brightness. This ghost was not to be trifled with. She could literally _feel _the power emanating off of it in a manner that rivaled the horrendous Fright Knight, Pariah Dark's main adherent. Maybe even Dark himself.

The ghost's terrifying neon gaze met her own. It snarled.

Through her petrified haze, through the hectic beating of a heart that leapt into her throat and chocked her, Sam did the only thing she could think to do.

She pulled the trigger.

It had been a long time since Sam had been this afraid. Terror was clawing its way through her veins, climbing the length of her spine and settling at the roots of her hair. It made her skin prickle, made her heart leap in anticipation. The spook's chilly aura settled heavily over her shoulders, causing her to shiver uncontrollably as she quickly and deftly disengaged the safety on her ectogun. It hastily powered to life and before she knew it, her trigger finger was depressing itself as if on its own accord.

When Sam was young, there had been a time when she feared the concept of fear itself, of the darkness that permeated the night. It was a time for terror, for indecision, for monstrosity. A time when she spent many nights sleeping amongst the warm, comforting glow of her pink nightlight. She had been nurtured by the horrible stories told by her mother and father—the ones that revolved around the war and the terrible battles that were fought between humans and spirits.

They had been above ground then, complacent under a sky that was tinged with green. During the summer, Sam, amongst other children, had played together in their city's park, located at the heart Amity. She could still remember the feeling of dandelions kissing her bare shins as she twirled about the grass. The pink frills of her dress would fan around her and she would imagine herself as one of the flowers, delighted by the warm sunshine.

Night, however, had terrified her. All forms of darkness had brought her running to her mother, lip quivering as tears spilled from her lavender eyes. She would scream that ghosts were chasing her, that they were coming for her soul and intent on eating the eyes from her skull. They would do their best to placate her terror, and she would try to be strong as the sun fell behind the horizon, but it was never enough. Her nights were spent with the constant companion of her night terrors. She would awake riddled with screams and tears and no amount of consolation from her parents would ever be enough to sooth her.

At night the humans congregated together under a Fenton Dome, a ghost protectant shield that seemingly could protect them from any spectral attack, regardless of power level. She could remember dancing under the glow of the shield, eyes wide in wonder as the light illuminated her pale skin. They had all been so happy. So free. At the brink of extinction humans, regardless of sex, age, and ethnicity had all banded together in the wake of the enemy. They served together as brothers and sisters, forming what would soon become the Resistance.

It would be a few years later, when Sam was eight, that Amity first fell under attack. It was the first time she had seen death and destruction. She had been in school at the time when a ghost had somehow breached Amity's perimeter. All hell had broken loose as a spook—soon become known as the Fright Knight—ravaged the South end of their city, massacring thousands of people, obliterating Casper High and Casper elementary. She could remember lying amongst the rubble of her classroom hurt, but miraculously alive, as the corpses of her classmates and teacher surrounded her.

Something had snapped in her then. The severed arm of a classmate had fallen limp onto her abdomen, the warm blood spilling about her, drenching her white shirt and turning it pink. She had thrown up all over herself at the sight. Turning her head she had seen it, the Fright Knight. It had come back to investigate the damage it had caused and revel in the chaos it created. It had laughed. _Laughed. _The laughter had been so sinister, so _dark, _that it had terrified her enough to snap herself out of her stupor and cry.

That was when the ghost had noticed her.

Fright Knight's laughter had ceased immediately. A growl ripped from its throat as it began its approach towards her. Its raised palm had been charged with enough ectoplasmic energy to kill her—_obliterate _her instantly.

Sam did not scream. As the enemy approached, her terror replaced itself with an onslaught of adrenaline. The tears on her cheeks ceased completely in their decent, and her lavender eyes had shone bright with sudden rage. She'd bitten her lip as the ghost unleashed its terrifying gaze upon her, growling mercilessly.

And she'd snarled right back.

The ghost had hesitated, surprise evident in a moment of hesitation. It had leaned back, tasting the sudden arrival of new, raw emotions intermingling with her fear and desperation. Perhaps it was beginning to differentiate between them, understand that the liquid fire running through her veins and pumping thick into her heart was no longer a result of fear.

Shuddering under the weight of severed body parts restraining her, she had done her best to raise her head in defiance. She had glared into the eyes of her executioner. Fearing these monsters was a waste of her energy. Fear had become petty. And it was the arrival of these emotions that would prelude to a moment of hesitation long enough to warrant the arrival of her saviors.

The Fentons had come for her then, guns blazing. With a fire fueled by the death of their own children a mere three years prior, they had driven of the terrible spook and pulled her from the decimated remains of the other children. Never had she'd seen them so broken, so merciless. And never had she since.

Since then, she had given up her world of lace and frills and pink and white. Pink reminded her of blood on her shirt; white was too easily contaminated. She had taken to dressing to all black, in constant mourning of the lives that had been lost. Her attitude had darkened and she had thrown herself into physical training, working mercilessly towards a Warrior apprenticeship. She'd separated herself from her parents' ideals and carved for herself a path that allowed her to constantly walk the line of life and death.

And she had loved it.

She'd destroyed countless ghosts since then, ruthless and deadly in her tactic. Reveling in the midst of battle she was coldly efficient, brazen, and unstoppable. Ghosts had begun to recognize her, fearing her enough to retreat, and she would chase them—chase them down and slug her ectogun to their cores—and she would waste them. Ecotoplasm would shine over her armor, thick and heavy. She would smirk, watching as their remains dissipated in a cloud of white energy, fading away from existence.

But all of that had been child's play…

Especially in comparison to the matter she faced at hand…

In all her experiences, her years of training and battles fought combined, _never _had she come across a ghost powerful enough to top her ectosensors. The needle was erratic. Unable to pinpoint a reading from the ectosignature it identified, it instead unleashed a shrill whine, one that increased at a frequency so high that it shattered the face and went dark completely.

In her desperation, she had fired off a shot from her ectogun. It was petty, she knew, watching as a powerful ectoplasmic charge released itself from the barrel of her gun, bright green in the darkening light. With a morbid fascination, she watched as the charge was seemingly ricochet from the ghost's powerful form, tilting away and fizzling into nothingness. The ghost was snarling, with liquid green eyes alight and flaming in uninhibited rage. It was before her instantly, knocking her weapon away from her hands and sending it scuttling across the pavement at her feet.

Its bright green eyes bored into hers, snarls ripping from its throat and chilling her to the bone. It was then the claws of fear began to recede as the situation dawned on her.

This was a ghost.

Sam refused to be afraid of ghosts.

She skirted around it as quickly as she could, lunging again for her gun, but the ghost had anticipated this and reacted by grabbing her outstretched arm. It lifted her completely off her feet, dangling her by the arm it held in a firm grasp as she screamed obscenities at it. She swung her feet, attempting to kick it, but it compensated for this by lengthening the span of its reach, tightening its grip on her wrist.

And then everything was silent—save for Sam's rapid breathing and the chaos of her heart.

The ghost regarded her with a gaze that was cold and calculating. Brows furrowed over its terrifying eyes. She met its scrutiny with a scowl; teeth clenched in revulsion, even as it summoned a ball of powerful ectoplasmic energy at its palm and brought it to her throat. She would not back down. She refused to be afraid.

So this is how she was going to die, Sam realized. In the grasp of a powerful ghost, not from battle, but instead because of her masochistic sense of fulfillment. Oddly enough, it didn't bother her. She would die _alive_, in rebellion against both the spirits and the conformity of the Compound. She didn't welcome death itself per se, but rather the idea of being a martyr of her own ideals.

Which is why, in complete disregard for the outcome of her actions, she suddenly spit in the ghost's face.

The green light of its energy shone bright in the lavender of her eyes. She repelled the urge to close them, refusing to give in to its sadistic satisfaction. The energy began to burn at the sensitive skin of her throat, strengthening at the proximity of its charged palm. Every fiber of her being, every nerve ending was on _fire_. Even the freezing touch of the ghost's hand on her arm was burning her, searing her through her suit. She could feel the invasion of her consciousness as the ghost observed her, tasted her emotions on its tongue.

"What are you?" it suddenly asked. Its voice was otherworldly.

Sam sputtered, caught off guard as the burning sensation from her neck disappeared completely. It released her arm and dropped her to her feet. Its gaze was suddenly questioning, staring at her through a fall of shock white hair. If it weren't for the ethereal glow and its eyes, the ghost almost seemed human. It was unsettling.

Free from its grasp, Sam regained her composure and glared back at her assailant. She refused to let her guard down, opting to instead take note of her surroundings without removing her eyes from the specter before her. Her fingers twitched, longing for the ectogun that lay far beyond her reach. There was no way she was getting past this monster. Its power was at such a high caliber she doubted her gun would do much damage, anyway.

Simply put: she was as good as dead.

So, she did the only thing she could do: "Human," she said, finally answering its question in a voice laced with sarcasm. "What, you all brawn and no brain or something?"

The corners of the ghost's mouth turned up into a hint of a smirk. It cocked its head to the side, regarding her with a look that Sam found odd to see a ghost's face. "Are you not afraid of me, _human_?"

"No, I'm too busy overcoming my revulsion and figuring out how to destroy you," she responded, trying her best to sound nonchalant. She braced herself, expecting the ghost give up its toying with her. Instead, she was surprised as the ghost threw back its head and laughed.

"What's so funny?" she snapped.

The ghost chuckled again. "You act as if you are not in company with one of the most powerful ghosts in the Ghost Zone; I think that's what you humans call it, right? Where others cower in fear, you actually manage to _challenge me,_" it said. "I'm impressed. Though I have to ask, what is it that sent you looking for trouble in the first place? Sam."

Ice was suddenly running through her veins. "How do you know my name?" she asked dangerously.

The ghost smiled knowingly. It backed away from her and went to retrieve her weapon. Observing it carefully, it seemingly admired her weapon's craftsmanship whilst her blood continued to run cold. "Samantha Manson, Warrior extraordinaire." Its voice was full of faux bravado. It made a show tossing her gun into the air once and catching it, before suddenly throwing it into her direction for her to catch. "You've made quite a name for yourself in the Ghost Zone."

The freezing tendrils of fear finally began to lick their way down Sam's spine. Her hands shook as she once again charged and pointed her ectogun at the ghost, though she knew it was futile. There was no stopping this monster. It could do whatever it wanted to her and she was at its mercy. And it _knew _it too. She could see it the curve of its grin, the way it looked at her as if she had no escape. It reminded her of a biological situation in the ancient wild—a predator and its prey. The cat and the mouse.

"Okay," she said. She hoped it didn't hear the tremble in her voice as she attempted to regain her composure. "So you know who I am. Who are you?"

"I am Phantom," the ghost said simply, its eyes watching her carefully as if to gauge her reaction.

_Shit._

Sam's mind went as blank as her face.

_Shit, shit, shit, shit._

She had always wondered why the spooks never entered this part of Amity. Ghosts were primitive and territorial, often claiming areas from their world or the material world, as well as all the objects and occupants within its limits. A territorial ghost was exceptionally more dangerous than a haunting ghost, known to be both possessive and ruthless.

What was worse still, however, was that the spook who had decided to take up residence in Amity Park was none other than _Phantom, _a ghost that even Pariah Dark regarded with a sort of grudging respect. This was bad. This was really bad.

Sam tried her best to stifle the chaotic beating of her heart. She released the tension in her arms, letting them fall slack at her sides. Her ectogun powered down with a whine.

The ghost finally sensed her fear and smiled. "What? _Now _you're afraid of me?"

"_I am not afraid of you!" _she exclaimed, completely livid. "I would never waste my time being afraid of ectoplasmic _scum _like _you!"_

"Then what are you afraid of, _Sammy_? The fate of your humans buried pathetically beneath our feet?" the ghost challenged.

"Fuck you!" she spat. "You're nothing but a monster!"

The ghost's brows furrowed as if it was truly considering her words. "Quite the contrary, actually," it murmured. "Would it appease you to know I have no intention of harming you or your precious underground sanctuary?"

"And what if you were lying?"

The ghost regarded her challenge silently. It met her fiery gaze with one of its own. The pair stood in the darkness of night, illuminated by the lively glow of the moon. Its eyes were bright and ominous, surreal even, as its gaze bored into her so intensely she felt as if she would combust at any moment. The wind caught the edges of the cloak it wore, billowing and revealing the dark fabric of a tunic it sported underneath. It suddenly stuck Sam how closely the ghost's form resembled the anatomical structure of a human male, and she briefly pondered the oddity of it.

The ghost immediately noticed the redirection of her gaze at its torso. A sly smile slipped at the corners of its mouth. "See something you like?"

Her eyes instantaneously snapped higher to meet Phantom's. She was disgusted with herself as the familiar feeling of a blush heated her cheeks, utterly embarrassed to have her actions misinterpreted. Unwilling to play into the ghost's mockery, she snapped, "No, actually, I don't. But _you _are avoiding my question."

Phantom's grin slipped from its face and it sighed heavily. One of its hands was suddenly running through its hair, which seemed odd to her because the gesture seemed almost _human_. "I'm not lying," it said. "I have no qualms with your humans."

"So you say."

A growl emitted from Phantom's throat, obviously annoyed. "_You _are the one who forced me to show myself." It gestured wildly at the goggles that had fallen to hang loosely around her neck. "I have been here for nearly two years now, and up until this point, you have taken absolutely _no _notice of me. _Sam_." It said her name venomously, its brows falling low over its eyes.

"Which reminds me," it said again, stepping closer to her. "For your entire prowess, your reputation is exceeded by your actions. What is it that causes you to leave the safety of your cozy little human hole in the ground? _What is it that you are looking for?"_

Sam's stomach had twisted itself into several uncompromising knots. The ghost was uncomfortably close to her now, looking down at her furiously. Its confusion was evident in the way it regarded her; eyes wide, hands splayed. It was almost completely dark now and Phantom once again summoned energy at its palm, causing an eerie green light to cascade in a shower around her. Shadows were dancing on the planes of its face, and again she found it hard to believe that the face she was seeing was not that of a human.

The absurdity of the situation was dawning on her. Never had she held a conversation this long with a ghost, but then again, never had a ghost gone this long without trying to destroy her. She figured it was ancient, confident in its power. Perhaps it was bored, opting to indulge in the intellectual complexity of a strange human such as herself. Maddie Fenton would have been beyond herself in attempting to dissect Phantom's behavior, as he—it—was rapidly defying many theories Sam had learnt in her studies.

Sam took a calming breath and discharged her ectogun. She brought it to her chest, using her thumb in attempt to rub out a scuff that ran along the length of the barrel. She looked up to see Phantom's curious gaze, one eyebrow higher than the other as it watched her, seemingly fascinated.

There were many nights that Sam spent accompanied by her indecision. She relished the battle of foe to foe, romanced by the idea of shaping the world by her own hands. To reclaim what the enemy had taken; to avenge the lives that had been lost. She had always been an individualist and an activist, wanting nothing more than to change the world for the better. The urge to do so in battle correlated with her desire for adrenalin. She was, in all matters of the phrase, a thrill seeker.

And in all truthfulness, she resented the Compound and its conformity. The biggest difference that had always existed between herself and her fellow Warrior prodigy, Valerie Gray, was all a matter of loyalty. Valerie was loyal to their mentor and the Compound, whilst Sam's loyalty had always been with her ideals and the people she cared about. Her Warrior status just happened to be a result of good aim and a talent with weaponry.

What was she looking for? She had no idea

The realization that she had no answer for the ghost before her utterly derailed her. Much of her life had been spent at the crossroads of her decisions, but she felt the second stupidest decision she had ever made was when she placed the gun into a holster she had for it at her waist, sheathing her weapon completely.

She couldn't believe she was still alive.

Phantom must have deduced her mindset through the backdrop of her emotions. Stepping away from her, it settled into a demeanor that was much less menacing. It again ran its free hand through its snowy locks, cocking its head to the side as it studied her. A pregnant silence filled the air between them.

Uncomfortable under Phantom's gaze, Sam began to absentmindedly rub the wrist where the ghost had grabbed her, surprised by how sore it was.

"I apologize for that," Phantom said, nodding its head in the direction of her hands. "You caught me by surprise earlier. I didn't mean to harm you."

Again she was brought up short. A ghost was apologizing for hurting her? She hoped the incredulity didn't surface to her face, though she was sure Phantom could sense it. She opted to redirect the conversation instead. "Why are you here?" she asked with slight distrust. Her eyes flickered over to the ectoplasmic energy that was undulating in a sphere over the ghost's hand, currently the only source of light aside from the faint green glow of the moon above them.

"The same reason you are," he—it—replied calmly.

"You've been watching me," she deadpanned. It wasn't a question.

"Yes," Phantom said after a pause, verifying her suspicions.

"Why?"

He sighed. "I haven't been watching _you_ exactly, merely cataloguing the goings of my territory. Your actions have always been intriguing, especially in regards to your reputation."

She nodded as if what he had said had made sense, though her mind was reeling with confusion. "Why is Amity Park your territory?" she asked, hoping to gather as much information as he was willing to divulge.

"Why not?"

Sam gnashed her teeth, annoyed. She found herself extremely exasperated by the ghost's infuriating smirk, but as she caught herself from snapping out a snide retort, another thought occurred to her. "Why are you so different from other ghosts?" And it was a question asked in complete honesty. Any other ghost would have killed her by now, but Phantom refrained. It hadn't even touched her since releasing her from its initial hold after she rendered it out of hiding.

At this, Phantom smiled. "What makes you think that what you know about ghosts is all there is to know?" The challenge was evident in his tone, a single white eyebrow arched as he looked at her sideways, obviously enjoying his stance in their conversation. He shifted the orb of light to his other hand in a flash, spinning it so it shimmered in the leeching darkness.

Fed up with his evasion of her questions, Sam crossed her arms over her chest and unleashed a vicious glare. She couldn't help but shiver as the frigid wind licked through her clothes and settled into her bones. Finally, she asked, "What do you want with me?"

Phantom suddenly frowned. "Want with you?" he repeated, obviously affronted. "I had no intention of even revealing myself to you. If I wanted you dead, I assure you I had many opportunities to do so in the past. The only reason I am here before you now is because _you_"—he pointed at her accusingly—"made it happen. And I must say, Madeline Fenton has really outdone herself with this new invention." He was once again eyeing the goggles at her neck, shaking his head with a light chuckle.

It truly bothered Sam that the names of people she knew and cared about rolled so easily off the ghost's tongue. The fact that he knew names of Residence members at all bothered her, but then again, it had never been kept secret. She resisted the urge to reach into her holster and blast this ghost into oblivion, even despite the fact that her first attempt had ended in failure. Her fingers were twitching.

"What are you going to do now?" She tried her best to glare at him, pushing as much malice into her voice as she could, but a pathetic bout of shivers was racing through her body in response to the chilly air, and effectively ruining what was left of her dignity.

Phantom rolled his eyes. "I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to disappear, and you are going to go back to your home." He looked her up and down, shaking his head as if she was the saddest sight he ever saw. "You're freezing."

Sam found his concern more than a little disturbing. "I can take care of myself," she snapped. But then it dawned on her. He was letting her go? She must have heard him wrong.

Amusement was dancing in the neon of Phantom's eyes, his former smirk now the slightest of smiles. The dangerous ghost maintained a steady distance between them, but he continued with his infuriating evaluation of her as her looked her up and down. He then cocked his head to the side, eyes once again meeting hers as his expression became openly curious.

Sam glared with all the furiousness she could muster whilst she continued to shiver uncontrollably. Her heart was pounding and she crossed her arms firmly across her chest. Somehow knowing that she might come to regret the question later, Sam couldn't help but ask, "Why haven't you killed me yet?"

Without missing a beat, Phantom said, "Eh, killing pretty girls really isn't my thing."

_What?_

The expression that flitted across Sam's face in a moment of horror must have been amusing because Phantom was laughing again, deeply. Once he sobered his expression had darkened mischievously, green eyes dancing in mirth. He approached her, closing the distance between them in three long strides. It had happened so fast that she didn't have time to back away. Towering over her, Phantom leaned in and whispered, "Goodnight, Sammy."

And then everything went dark.

Three things struck Sam in the moment that the green, flickering light of the ghost's energy disappeared.

Number one: she was still alive.

Number two: she was alone.

Number three: Phantom had let her live.

* * *

_Thanks, everyone, for your continued support! I really appreciate it!_

_-Roar_


	4. Rationed Awareness

**UPDATE 9/20/2014: THE FIRST FOUR CHAPTERS ARE NOW COMBINED AND UPDATED. THIS IS WHY THE CHAPTER COUNT HAS CHANGED!**

**Thank you for your patience!**

* * *

**Epíphantos**

**Chapter Three:**

_**Rationed Awareness**_

* * *

It was the stricken look on Sam's face that sent Tucker running to her. She had seen it herself in the mirror that morning as she'd readied herself: violet eyes glassy, her face an ashen white. Unable to find her brush, she'd simply pulled her shoulder-length hair into a messy tail at the back of her head. She also hadn't slept a wink since her fateful encounter with the infamous Phantom that night. As soon as her bedside clock had reached an acceptable hour, she'd dashed out of her apartment, ignoring her mother's side remarks about her appearance. She needed to find Tucker.

Upon reaching the cafeteria, she'd seen him instantly. He'd been grimacing at the meager amount of food on his plate, making his away over to the table he and Sam had recognized as theirs—the one at the very back corner of the cafeteria. He'd looked up and noticed her, a smile barely touching his lips before a frown suddenly set in. He furrowed his brows in worry, abandoning his plate at the table and made a beeline across the room to meet her.

"Sam!" he exclaimed as he reached her. He grabbed her shoulders roughly, effectively and abruptly stilling her. "What _happened _to you? Are you alright?" His voice had risen, panic evident as he evaluated her.

Unable to formulate an intelligible response, Sam merely shook her head rapidly. Really, what could she say? How does one begin to describe the events that had transpired when she herself could barely understand it? The words evaded her completely. "I met him, Tucker."

"Who?" he asked, clearly confused. People around them began to stare, curious as to what had overcome the Warrior girl and her Inventor friend. Whispers surrounded them. Tucker looked around briefly, slightly annoyed, before he leaned in closer, his lips almost at her ear. In a lower voice he asked her, "_Who_, Sam? Who did you meet?"

Sam ducked her chin to her chest, shaking her head. She struggled again to find the words. "The goggles, Tucker. They work. And I met him. I met _him_."

Tucker's grip on her shoulders tightened into iron fists, twisting the fabric of her shirt. "Sam, _what _are you _talking about_?"

"Phantom. I met Phantom. Last night. I—went out. And I met him. He's here—in Amity."

Tucker's eyes had widened and his jaw had dropped. Suddenly he was dragging her towards the exit of the cafeteria, pulling her roughly along the blank corridors of the Compound. "We need to find the Fentons immediately," he shouted at her.

Once the pair reached the lab, Tucker threw the doors open and barged in furiously. Even though it was Sunday, the day that was dignified as the supposed "day of rest," the Fentons could still be found diligently working away in their lab. And today had been no exception. Once the doors had swung open, Maddie Fenton, startled, looked up immediately from the wires she had been soldering with Jack hovering over her shoulder. It had taken the briefest of moments for her to evaluate the expressions on their faces before she was barreling towards them, her maternal instincts hitting overdrive.

"What's wrong?" she asked seriously, pulling out chairs and nearly forcing them to sit. Jack joined them, dark brows set in worry. Seeing Sam's face, Maddie's hands were at her cheeks, coaxing Sam too look up and meet her eyes. "Sam, dear," she tried again, "can you please tell me what is going on. Are you alright?"

Tucker jumped in for her. "She encountered Phantom last night, Mrs. Fenton. She's an idiot." He was scowling, utterly furious. "Went and used those goggles last night. Guess they work, huh, Sam?"

Sam was shaking her head despite Maddie's grip. Shame settled heavily on her shoulders as Maddie's expression hardened at Tucker's words.

"Sam," she said. "Is this true?"

"Yes." She looked away from Maddie's scrutiny, staring instead at her shoes.

Tucker's voice rose again. "She's lucky to be freaking alive!"

"Tucker," Maddie scolded, just as Jack had suddenly grabbed the nearest weapon and charged it to life. "Jack," she amended, just as irritable. She turned to glare at her husband.

Jack's eyebrows rose in confusion. "What? Let's waste that disgusting ecto-spook." He raised the weapon, imitating an overzealous battle stance with his face scrunched in anger. "Nobody touches our Sammy and gets away with it, even if it is that molecular failure, Phantom." He swung the weapon in his enthusiasm, causing his finger to slip and accidently depress the trigger, releasing a blast of energy that arced wildly about the lab before fizzling out in a shower of green sparks.

"Jack!" Maddie exclaimed in horror. "Put that thing away!"

But it was too late.

The room erupted into a chaos of noise and flashes of light as the lab reacted to the ectoplasmic charge of the weapon. Safety alarms blared to life, drowning out Maddie's frustrated curses at her husband. Jack struggled to reach the cancel switch on the wall before him, but tripped over one of the lab chairs in his path and fell abruptly to the floor. The weapon he held fell from his hands as well, clattering across the linoleum, but not before releasing yet another powerful blast of light.

The chaos ended when a fist suddenly slammed against the override switch, causing the room to fall into a heavy silence. Jazz Fenton stood with her sea-green eyes wide, taking in the situation before her. "What is going on here?" she shouted at them, utterly incredulous. She stormed over to her father and helped him to his feet, then reached for the large ectoblaster that had started it all, angrily switching off the power and reactivating the safety. Finally, she approached Sam and Maddie, her gaze flitting between the two of them in concern. "Is everything okay? What happened?"

Sam found herself swallowing as everyone's eyes were suddenly focused on her. She turned, letting her eyes meet Jazz's, and understanding instantaneously flashed between them. Jazz nodded once, imperceptibly, before she turned to her parents.

"Mom, dad," she said, addressing them in voice that one would usually address a child with. "I don't know what's going on here, but you're obviously making Sam uncomfortable. How about we all pull out some chairs and talk about this as respectful and rational adults."

Jazz took the lead, redirecting everyone so they were all comfortably sitting adjacent to each other, a shape that was near ovular. Her composure seemed to imprint itself onto her parents as they, too, visibly relaxed, despite the anxiety that still lingered like a storm cloud over the impending conversation.

When everyone was seated, Jazz also took her seat next to Sam. With one leg crossed over the other, she took a moment to unleash her steady gaze on each person in their circle, meeting their eyes briefly. Finally, with a silence that saturated the air like poison, she took a deep, calming breath.

Jazzmyn Fenton had always been a sort of enigma. Schooled under her parents and then furthering her education in the psychological sciences, she was every bit the Fenton brain as her parents were. With long, auburn hair that fell to her waist and the seaside eyes she shared with her mother, she was the epitome of elegance. Of serenity. She was beautiful, a feat that was not hindered by the deep, garish scar tissue that distorted the left side of her face and neck. The scars merely served as reminder of her survival, that she was the only living Fenton child, and thus the pride and joy of her mother and father.

The look in her eyes that fluctuated between each member of their party was a look that belonged someone much older that her years of twenty-two. Having witnessed the death of her twin siblings as a child, she'd promptly planted her roots in psychology, determined to understand the demons of her memories and help others overcome theirs as well. It was for this reason that Sam was so well acquainted with her, as she'd spent much of her youth in Jazz's company.

The two girls shared another empathizing look, Jazz taking note of Sam's small smile of gratitude. The slightest of smiles tugged at the corners of the older girl's mouth before she again set her attention on the group before her.

"Now," she said in a voice as calm as her demeanor. "Can someone please tell me—_calmly"—_she snapped as Tucker, still visibly furious, stood up abruptly to interrupt her—"what happened?" Her gaze was cool and emotionless on him until he sat back down with a huff. If Jazz was triumphant about their battle wills, she didn't show it.

Sam did her best to imitate Jazz's composure, drawing herself together in order to hold her head high. Swallowing hard, she took a deep breath as Jazz had moments before.

When she spoke she stared at her shoes. "Last night I left the Compound. I wanted to try out the goggles Mrs. Fenton gave me…I now know why there are no ghosts in the central part of the city . . ." It had only been hours since the fateful encounter, though her memories seemed distant—almost otherworldly in essence, and dreamlike. Her hand lightly touched her sore forearm where he'd grabbed her, eyes slipping higher to trace the dark bruises that wrapped vicelike around her arm.

Finally, she said, "Amity has been claimed by Phantom."

The only indication of Jazz's surprise at Sam's words was an abrupt arch of her eyebrows, eyes slightly widening as she processed the information. She considered it momentarily, before nodding once. She was about to speak when her mother abruptly interrupted her.

"Did it hurt you, honey?" Maddie asked, worry pinching her brows together. She leaned forward in her chair, wanting to take the Warrior girl in her arms as she would her own daughter. Ghosts were dangerous creatures, after all.

Sam shook her head. "The goggles rendered his existence perfectly. It startled him though and he challenged me. I fired a shot at him but it didn't do anything—I don't even think he was affected by it!"

Maddie frowned at this, glancing over her shoulder to her husband who was glaring at the floor. She bit her lip in thought. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Our weapons are only equipped to handle ghosts that range at about four or five on the ecto-scale. Phantom was well into the seven range the last time we got a reading on it."

"Wasn't that the only time Phantom was ever seen?" Tucker questioned. "Or at least one of the few?"

Maddie nodded. "Phantom is a very recent addition to our archives. Very allusive, usually nondestructive, but extremely powerful. The only documented sighting in our world was during the whole Guys in White fiasco. And even then we're still not sure what exactly happened. Aside from that, the only information we have on it are rumors our subjects have dispelled."

Sam shuddered at Maddie's casual use of the word "subjects." Not many ghosts that invaded the human world retained the ability to verbally communicate on a level humans could understand. Most were odd reincarnations of human emotion, ravaging and attacking anything still living, lusting for the kill. There were a few, however, with cores that were much different and stronger than the aggressive wisps, ones that were able to communicate. Some had even been able to rationalize.

It was these ghosts that Maddie based her studies on. After their capture they would begin to speak, begging mercilessly to be set free. Many spoke of terror in their world, of more death and repression, and wanting to escape. But in the end, no ghosts could be trusted, and after their experimentation was over their cores were harvested and used for the ecto-devices Jack developed. The ghosts that were harvested usually ranged within the class three through five areas, which is why most ectoplasmic-based weapons were only effective on ghosts under or around the same level.

Sam tried not to shudder under the implications, but couldn't help herself. She hated ghosts—they all did—but there was something utterly _wrong _about having to listen to a creature, even if it was a ghost, beg for its life mingled within its cries of pain and suffering. She couldn't help but wonder why a ghost would beg for life if it was already dead in the first place. Ghosts couldn't feel pain, as they did not possess nervous systems, musculature, or any of the anatomical requirements to do so. At least that's when she'd always been told.

Lost in her thoughts, Sam didn't notice when Maddie had asked her another question. It was when all eyes were on her and Tucker's exasperated exclamation of "Sam!" that startled her out of her reverie. She looked up to see Maddie's worried expression.

"Sam, dear, are you alright?" she asked. "I asked what happened to you out there. How did you escape Phantom? Did it attack you?"

Sam released a breath of air that lingered heavy in her lungs. "He did at first—"

"That's it, I've had!" Jack interjected loudly, jumping from his seat. "It's time we take the fight to the enemy! No use lying around like smoked sausages! I—"

"Dad! Would you shut the hell up and let Sam _talk_!" Jazz snapped, the first breach of her professionalism. Jack fell to his seat, grumbling obscenities, with heavy arms that folded themselves across his chest. After he was seated, Jazz sniffed and returned her gaze expectantly to Sam.

Sam found it hard to meet anyone's gaze, but was too proud to continue staring at her shoes like a shamefaced child. Instead she focused her gaze behind Maddie on the photograph of the deceased Fenton children, finding comfort in the blueness of their eyes.

It was then that Sam was finally able to relate to them what truly happened between her and Phantom. As she spoke, she would often notice the widening of eyes and the startled gasp. Intelligible exclamations and murmurs that she couldn't quite catch. She told them the gist of it, an unemotional rendering of the events that transpired.

She had skipped over the eerie and compassionate glint that had been in Phantom's eyes, the intense curiosity that existed between the pair as they regarded each other in the darkness of night, illuminated by the spherical ball of energy emanating from his palm. They were things she knew she should say, but had no idea how to go about saying them. Things that went against her morals as a Warrior and everything she stood for. They were forbidden truths that were meant to stay hidden.

So she buried them.

Finishing her tale, however, was met with absolute silence. Even Jazz's composure had waned slightly, the surprise dominating her face.

Maddie was rapidly shaking her head. "It let you go?" Her incredulity pitched her voice an octave higher than usual. She rose from her chair, walking—nearly sprinting—to her research desk, booting up files. She entered the archives, pulling up Phantom's file. The file was merely a paragraph long, sparse in its detail. There were a few lines of recorded sightings since the incident, though they were random and nonspecific. "It must have some sort of ulterior motive. There must be _something_ it has to gain from not killing you. As glad as I am you're alive dear, but I just don't _understand it._" She was nearly hysterical as she read and reread the information before her.

Sam resisted the urge to roll her eyes. The best way to unravel a Fenton was by disproving one of their genius "and meticulously thought out" theories.

"Who is Phantom, anyway?" Tucker suddenly asked.

Looking at the screen, Maddie said, "It says here that four years ago it was involved in a human and ghost skirmish at the old Guys in White facility in Wisconsin. Four operatives were killed, and the other ghosts involved escaped. Supposedly, Phantom was intent on removing captured specimens from their experimentation facility. It doesn't specify which ghosts, nor are there any details involving them. I suspect they were part of the same clan." Her eyes squinted as she focused on the numbers. "From what I can tell about Phantom's ectosignature reading, it was in the high sevens in terms of class at the time. Almost an eight."

Tucker's face was pinched in confusion. "The Guys in White? Who are they, anyway?"

"Some top secret ghost research organization that had been funded by the government at the time," Maddie said. "Supposedly disbanded after that. This is the last recorded documentation in their records."

Tucker scoffed. "What I don't understand is if there were no survivors, how was it even recorded in the first place?" Pushing the glasses higher up the bridge of his nose, his eyes met briefly met Sam's before looking away again to Maddie. "How is that even possible?"

Frowning, Maddie once again reread the information. It was when she glanced at the article's author that she gasped.

"What is it, mom?" Jazz asked, just as Tucker jumped up to join Maddie, reading the screen over her shoulder. Suddenly, he was gasping as well.

Sam shared a confused look with Jazz, as she too stood intent on seeing what all the commotion was about. She was halted, however, as her eyes met Tucker's steely gaze. His expression was grim.

"What?" Sam asked, slightly perturbed. Perhaps even a little nervous.

"Sam," Tucker began, "the only recorded survivor, the author of the article—is Vlad Masters."

**XXX**

The proceeding afternoon found Tucker walking Sam quietly to the cafeteria. Having missed breakfast, the pair was famished. The walk had been quiet and strained, each studiously avoiding the other. They walked through the line in the cafeteria, awaiting their portions in silence. It was when they were finally sitting at their familiar seats, trays of food before them, that Tucker finally broke the silence.

"I know you don't want to talk about this, Sam," he said, "but I think we should."

"I know," she replied quietly, nibbling at her salad. She hadn't said much earlier either, for once grateful for the Fentons' lack of attention spans. They'd barely allowed her to speak, intent on unraveling the mysteries of "ghost scum everywhere." Jazz wouldn't press her until Sam was willing to consult _her_ on the matter. Tucker, however, was a completely different story.

She knew he was pissed at her. She could feel his resentment rolling off of him in waves of bitterness, filling his eyes when he glared at her. He was absolutely livid. And as much as she hated to admit it, he had every right to be. Her head was hung with shame, and she refused to meet his gaze.

"I thought you stopped going out there." His tone was harsh, but she knew she deserved it.

Sam merely shrugged. "I needed to breath."

"Needed to—" He was nearly growling now. "Sam. What the _hell_ has gotten in to you? Do you have a fucking death wish?"

Sam cringed at his words, looking up to glare at him. "No!" she cried defensively.

He took a breath to calm himself, closing his eyes briefly to gather his thoughts. "I love you like a sister, Sam. And I care about you. But if you keep this up, I'm going to have no choice but to report you to Grey."

Sam gasped, air hissing through her teeth as she seethed. Damon Grey. Leader of the Resistance. Father of Valerie Grey. If she was to be reported for insubordination she would be pulled from her apprenticeship, forced to live the rest of her life on the sidelines and underground. It would be the end of her freedom.

"You wouldn't." Sam's tone was dangerous, betrayal dancing in her eyes. How dare he? He had no right to threaten her!

Tucker's expression softened slightly as he took her hand. She resisted the urge to yank it away from him. "Sam, I'm _sorry_. But I just don't want to see you wind up dead. You are _very _lucky Phantom didn't kill you last night. You're my best friend, and I don't know what I would do if anything happened to you. Someday we _will _be able to leave this place, but you just have to be patient. You will be able to go Out with the rest of the Warriors on their next mission. Just hold out till then."

Not really believing herself, Sam nodded once, holding his gaze to reassure him. No, she said with her eyes as she always did, I will never do it again—I promise.

That seemed to placate him as he was suddenly smiling at her. "After we eat how about a trip to arcade, eh?" He wiggled his eyebrows. When he spoke, he filled his voice with a deep bravado. "It's time for Goth Girl to get her ass whooped once more by the Almighty Technogeek!"

Sam nodded with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. She returned to her salad, nibbling apprehensively as she mulled through her next line of action.

Tomorrow she would have a conversation with her mentor.

**XXX**

Later that night, after Sam plummeted into the warmth of her comforter, she began to dream.

_There is fire everywhere. The undulations are irrepressible, fiery tongues licking and arcing madly. The flames are a bright green with deep hues of madness. People run screaming, many lay dead. Corpses burn, limp and smoking, each in various states of decomposition. The air is thick with calamity. _

_She tried to stop it. Somehow she did, though she can't remember how. _

_Ghosts are everywhere. Pariah Dark is at her heels. Laughter echoes, dripping with spite, and causing her skin to prickle with gooseflesh. She whips around, weapon poised as hate for the enemy runs like poison through her veins. _

_Suddenly, she screams._

_Where Pariah Dark had been moments ago is Phantom, green ectoplasmic eyes dancing with rage as bright as the flames surrounding him. _

Sam woke with a jolt. Shooting upright from her bed with her hands scrambling madly for her weapon, she then fell back to her pillow with a huff, the ectogun hugged firmly to her chest. She must have screamed, because she heard the frenzied bustling and bumping of her parents in the next room over. Groaning, she did her best to stifle the rapid beating of her heart. Her weapon was cold and metallic on her chest as she panted.

Her door burst open as Pamela Manson, in all her strawberry blonde glory, barged into the room. "Sammykins!" she exclaimed, falling to her knees at the girl's bed. She placed a hand on Sam's forehead, pushing away dark bangs and peering intently into her daugther's eyes. "Are you all right, dear? What's wrong? Mommy's here!"

Sam's father was leaning at the doorframe nursing a steaming cup of coffee. He looked in on the pair and sighed.

Sam bit her lip and turned away from her mother. She buried her ectogun deep into her blankets with her chin pressed hard on the barrel. With eyes squeezed shut, she tried her best to ignore her mother's hands butterflying over her face and shoulders.

"Sammy, look at me," Pamela said. Her voice was high pitched and grated Sam's ears as she spoke. Her pretty face was creased with worry as she glanced behind her to Jeremey, Sam's father, with her perfectly arched eyebrows high over widened blue eyes. He shrugged in response.

Annoyed, Sam pulled the blankets tighter over her frame and hid her face. "Go away," she growled.

Pamela released a defeated breath of air. "Oh Samantha," she said with her voice barely above a whisper.

Now, as Sam pulled the blankets back and peeked through her fingers at her mother's worried face, she saw an inkling of the former spark that had once been there. The war had affected the Manson family deeply. The loss of wealth and life pulled the sheen away from her mother's once-golden hair. Behind her, Sam saw the distorted gleam in her father's eye that had once been determination, but somehow deepened into a graveness that pulled his face taut and yellowed his teeth.

Once upon a time, in a world that resided atop, they'd been wealthy entrepreneurs, intent on industrializing Amity Park into a glory unfathomable to the surviving cities. They'd charmed and rallied many of Amity's citizens into expanding the city's borders, preserving and restoring the existing infrastructure. Together, their determination had revolutionized Amity into the capital of society, once again reigniting the war-torn citizens into the uncontainable flames they had once been.

Her parents had wanted nothing more than for her to follow in the carved path they'd created, even if it meant dragging her uphill through the footholds left in their wake.

And Sam had fought them the whole way.

Sam loved her parents, just as they loved her, but they would never understand her. Even now, as the war repressed Jeremy and Pamela into the poor mediocrity that was the rest the population, they focused too hard on her differences. Having been fiercely protective of her since she was young, they'd resented both her occupation and her attitude. But, in times like the present, they always found the need to comfort her from her night terrors—as they had since she was the little girl who had faced a monster and lived.

Sam found herself smiling wryly at the irony, just as her mother leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

"Go back to sleep, my little warrior," Pamela whispered. She then returned with Jeremy to their bedroom, humming to herself the song that had been a favorite of Sam's late grandmother.

**XXX**

The second time Sam woke that morning was to the intolerant wails of her alarm clock. After she silenced it with a heavy blow from the handle of the gun still cradled to her chest, she groaned and pulled herself to her feet. She showered quickly in freezing water, before lumbering grumpily through her apartment.

Her mother was sitting at the kitchen table with her head cradled between her hands. Seeing Sam, her head snapped up quickly revealing her cautious blue eyes. "Good morning, sunshine," she said tiredly.

Sam nodded her head once in acknowledgement. Her combat boots echoed on the linoleum of the kitchen floor as she stomped towards the fridge. Opening it, Sam pulled out a carton of soy milk and drank without pouring herself a glass.

Pamela grimaced, but said nothing. She watched her daughter, swallowing hard as the tension stifled her. The silence was pregnant with it, choking her and poisoning her coffee. She took a sip anyway.

Across the table from Pamela was Jeremy, who abruptly cleared his throat.

Sam shoved the carton back into the fridge, pivoting off her heel to send a vicious glare at her parents. She considered them with heavy brows before making her way to the door with loud footfalls. Reaching it, she looked over her shoulder and met her mother's eyes.

Pamela opened her mouth to speak, but the interjection of a door slamming interrupted her. The hefty blow of the door hitting the doorframe, jolting suddenly at the resistance, resonated deep into the confines of her heart—right where the misfortune had already left a scar.

Pamela cried.

**XXX**

The disorderly bustling of Compound inhabitants ambling through the corridors Monday morning brought with it a sense of normality. From previous lives came the fulfillment of the impending—as well as foreboding—workweek. Trying her best to keep her offending scowl to a minimum, Sam made her way through the tightly wound maze of grey halls and grey walls, packed to the brim with its equally grey inhabitants. In her hands she clutched a tray of steaming coffee cups.

People sidestepped around her, wary eyes trailing after her. It was an unspoken rule among them to avoid the glowering dark-haired Warrior girl at all costs. So they did. And Sam did her best to ignore the whispers that followed her. These people disgusted her anyway.

Biting her lip hard in an attempt to conceal her flaring temper, Sam shoved the door to the Fenton lab open with the toe of her boot. She didn't even try to plaster a smile on her face as she immediately began handing cups of hot coffee to the group of happy faces that had been awaiting her arrival. The grateful smiles did, however, improve her spirits somewhat. If only a little.

"Mornin', Sam!" Jack bellowed in his usual enthusiasm. He swung merrily on his office chair as he drank from his cup, which was a disastrous mix of dark coffee grounds and powered hot chocolate.

Sam nodded and dropped heavily into an empty chair next to Tucker. Across from her, Jazz raised an eyebrow. "Everything okay?" she asked.

"Everything's great," Sam responded dryly. She then looked over at Maddie, and with a voice laced with the upmost seriousness she asked, "What do we have?"

Maddie nodded at once and pushed her wheeled chair into the direction of the supercomputer a few feet behind her. She briefly ran her fingers across the screen, bringing it to life in front of the four others seated before her. Her fingers were a blur as they flew across the screen, pulling up colorful tabs and charts teeming to the brim with scientific data. The corners of her mouth were pulled downwards, brows pinched together as she quickly skimmed the information in preparation for the debriefing.

"Ectoplasmic contamination remains at a steady influx. Though from what I can tell, it won't be much longer before there's more ectoplasm than air out there." Maddie enlarged the current tab of her interest. It was a jagged chart symbolizing environmental stability. Fed constantly—or as long as the current probes remained active—with live data, the jagged line encompassing the screen was slow in its impressions, but the line was nonetheless in its leisurely arc upwards.

Sam nodded briefly. "What's the ratio of organic life out there now?" she asked.

"You know that just as well as I do, Sam. Since the last batch of probes went down there's no way to tell the exact rating, but from what I can see with that straggler out there it's not good, I'm afraid." Maddie frowned. "The ectoplasmic radiation levels have been exponential. In recent numbers, all of Amity's current organic life has decreased to about twenty percent. Occasionally the probe picks up ambient body heat of small creatures—cats, mice, that sort of thing."

"What about the ghosts?" asked Jazz.

"Quiet as ever," Maddie responded. "I get a few readings here and there, but nothing too substantial. Then again, the receptors aren't equipped to overcome the contamination. I can barely tell the difference between dirt and spook."

Sam found herself chewing on her lower lip as she mulled over the information. Then again, she found herself doing this nearly every Monday after she made the habitual morning trek to the Fenton lab. It had become their routine, one that had set in merely a few months after the great defeat. First it had been a meeting of comfort and reconciliation. Now, it existed as a means of action and understanding. As a Warrior and closet environmental enthusiast, Sam found herself in need of scientific justification. It gave her the drive to fight, to overcome fears and face the monsters that stood before her. Suddenly, a strange thought occurred to her.

"What about when the goggles rendered Phantom's ectosignature?" she asked. "How was there not an initial spike in chart readings, especially since it completely fried my gear?"

The older woman shook her head. "I'm assuming it's because the probe was not in the area when you encountered Phantom."

Sam frowned, nonetheless peeved.

"Jack and I have made modifications to a new set of probes," Maddie said, pointing towards a corner of her lab where various metal exoskeletons resided with wired guts still protruding from them. "As I understand, Vlad and Damon intend to deploy a small Warrior unit into the wastelands just beyond the city's borders in a couple of weeks." Her eyes met Sam's. "I'm willing to bet you'll be out there. As will that Valerie girl."

Sam's eyes widened in surprise. _Another raid so soon? The last one was only a month ago . . .?_

"Anyway, the objective is to gather ghostly cores as well as a few stable subjects for scientific evaluation and extraction." Maddie stood from her chair and made her way to Sam, who was currently repressing a shudder at Maddie's choice of words. Placing her hand on the girl's shoulder, Maddie remained quiet until lavender eyes slowly slid upwards to meet her steady gaze. "I know you're still a bit shaken up, dear, but I assure you, I've already spoken with Damon about the situation. He intends to take the necessary precautions."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, dubious. She doubted anything could be done about her _situation_, as Maddie had called it.

"Honey, your little gun may be powerful, but the Compound always saves the best for themselves."

"Those lousy good-for-nothings!" Jack growled angrily from behind them, causing both Sam and Maddie to jump. "Always taking my best work and stuffing it up their asses." With his coffee cup now knotted in his hands and the dark, chocolaty liquid running down the length of his arm, the large man suddenly began to sulk like a child.

Maddie placed a calming hand on her husband's arm before extricating the cup from his hands and tossing it into a nearby waste bin. She then retrieved a paper towel and began the process of cleaning his mess. "I'm afraid he's right," she began. "In the past, apprehended wasteland specters have been rather powerful. Once harvested, their cores have enabled the advancement of our weaponry. Fortunately most ghosts encountered are low in class because the government whisks our most powerful inventions away, even before we've had a chance properly profile them."

"Wait, wait, wait," Tucker exclaimed, forcefully pushing his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose as if his astonishment were a fault of poor visibility. "The class rating on Sam's blaster is a high five. How _powerful _are we talking here?"

"Quite a few sixes and a small number of sevens," Maddie said as Tucker's jaw unhinged in amazement. "They do have a stash of equally powerful cores as well, which I've convinced Damon utilize on Sam's blaster. The crystalline structure of the gun you developed for her will enable it to be repowered by a higher class core without damaging it or making it unstable."

Tucker nodded in agreement. "As it should considering I designed it that way," he said proudly. Sam had to roll her eyes at the visible swelling of his ego.

"Don't they have a stash of ectoranium as well, mom?" Jazz asked. She was absentmindedly tracing the scars on her neck in small repetitive motions, a habit she refused to admit to though nobody ever made the point of calling her out on it, anyway.

"A small amount," Maddie confirmed. "I have a few samples. _Amazing _stuff. Its composition is extremely complex, though it seems to have a high content of a salt-mimicking compound I've yet to identify. Point is, it works extremely well at repelling and disintegrating ghosts." She smiled at the thought, falling back into her seat. As she did, a loud noise suddenly rung shrill about the confines of the room and the corridor outside. Everyone inside jumped.

"And so the week begins!" Tucker said in a voice of mock enthusiasm, eyes plastered to his wrist watch as if willing time to move faster.

**XXX**

Sam began her Mondays with the typically boring statistics lecture, one that was told by that habitually boring William Lancer. She tried her best to remain studious as the balding man paced the confines of the small white room, occasionally offering a view of his back as he took a moment to draw some indiscernible scribbles on the touchboard behind him. On the current tab of her smartbook were scribbles that very much resembled those on the board before her, except hers happened to be random ghostly caricatures.

Two hours later and released from the hell of a lecture that Sam hated almost as much as the man who taught it, she joined Tucker in the cafeteria for lunch. Reminiscent of the morning's lecture, Sam did her best to remain active in their conversation as he animatedly spoke of the impending horrors of synthetic meats once the organic reserve ran out "in a couple years"—which she rolled her eyes at in response to, much too his chagrin. Frankly, she didn't give a shit.

For the first time since the Compound was instilled as the dominant—perhaps even tentatively permanent—means of habituation, Sam was eager for what lay ahead after the lunch bell rang. So much so it was all she could do to keep the soles of her boots on the floor, her eyes eagerly darting to the clock—to and fro, to and fro. She was swimming, positively full to the brim with excitement. So much so that she didn't even flinch at Tuker's quip about an imminent date.

"Jeez Sam," he'd said with a single eyebrow arched higher than the other. "Got a steamy hot date you didn't tell be about or something?"

Tucker's awaited response, much to his astonishment, was the sight of Sam's back as she nearly sprinted for the door the second the signaling bell rang, loud and clear, through the cafeteria. He sat there for a few moments afterwards with his mouth agape, amazed, and slightly offended. Then he said to himself, "Well that was rude."

But Sam didn't hear him. She hightailed it, allowing the familiarity of her destination guide her through the winding halls until she reached the entrance to the Warrior's Training Faction. Finally she slowed, permitting herself a respite long enough to catch her breath and still her nerves.

When she entered, Masters was there, exhibiting an expression that was grimmer than usual. "You're three minutes early," he said.

Without even bothering with her customary greeting of respect for her superior, she instead offered a reproachful glare. One that would probably make Tucker wet himself if he ever had the misfortune of seeing it. But Masters retaliated with one of his own, and it was in that instant that Sam realized just how mutual her hatred for the man actually was.

"You have questions?" he guessed through tight, smiling lips. His smile was carnivorous. So much so that Sam envisioned him with fangs instead of teeth.

"Tell me what you know about Phantom," she responded with her arms crossed firmly over her chest.

Masters' face darkened considerably. He squared his shoulders, effectively giving him the illusion of having drawn himself taller. Looking down at her over the bridge of his nose, he said in a voice as sickeningly sweet as the color pink: "What is it you'd like to know, my _dear _Samantha?"

Just then, Valerie must have decided it would be a perfect time to make an arrival as she appeared in the entryway. She gauged the situation briefly, probably sensing the animosity growing between the pair. After a moment of silence, she seemed to make a decision because she was swiftly stepping between them and facing Sam with a glare of her own, as if to protect her beloved mentor from the dangerousness that was Sam Manson. Sam almost laughed out loud at the hilarity of the situation.

No, scratch that, she almost hurled.

Valerie looked between the two once more. "What's going on here?" she demanded.

"Oh nothing, my sweet, just having a jolly good conversation with our dear Miss Manson." He waved offhandedly, allowing a smug smile to pull at the corners of his mouth. "What was it you were asking me again?"

"Don't play games with me, _Vlad." _Sam's temper was flaring. She'd woken up pissed, therefore lacking the capacity for handling bullshit. Especially Masters' bullshit. "Four years ago. Wisconsin. Guys in White. _Phantom_. Tell me what you know." She was close to yelling. Valerie took a step forward, readying herself to spring whenever necessary, as if Sam was the most dangerous being in existence.

Masters only laughed. Big. As in threw back his head and released a series of annoying _guffaws_. When he sobered enough to speak, he said, "Your audacity is commendable, however feeble and annoying. May I point out that a Warrior apprentice delving into the archives goes against protocol and accounts to insubordination?" He placed a hand on Valerie's shoulder, causing her confused gaze to meet his own. "Valerie, my dear, you may leave. We will resume training later."

Valerie seemed reluctant to leave. Not wanting to disobey her mentor, though, she obliged. But not before offering Sam a lasting glare that said all too clearly: "Watch it."

With Valerie gone, Vlad stepped closer to Sam. He was deadly calm. She hated to admit it, but in the current situation he intimidated her. She balled her fists and met his glare. Oddly enough, she realized she would gratefully repeat the scenario that had transpired between her and Phantom a thousand times if it meant she didn't have to with Vlad even once. Ghosts she could handle. But Masters . . . something just wasn't _right_ about him.

"I don't know what has you howling all of this malarkey but I advise you to step away, Samantha." His tone was dark and deadly. He had his hands behind his back but he was leaning forward, getting right in her face so when he spoke she felt a spray of spittle. "Four years ago is none of your concern. And it _will_ remain that way."

Sam recognized the transparent threat from the latter part of his sentence. She felt it gnawing at her nerve endings and sending chills spider webbing down her back. She tried her best not to show her intimidation, but somehow knew she was failing miserably.

The monster before her smiled. "Good. I'm glad we've come to an agreement." He stepped away from her and looked down at her from the bridge of his nose. "Now. In three weeks, I am being forced deploy a number of you rats out into the wastelands. Damon posatively _insists_ that I send _you _out there with them. I don't give a rat's palooky what you do out there, but one thing is to remain clear, stay out of the way of Miss Gray. Ta, ta, good day now. Class dismissed." And then he was gone, striding away as if they had just discussed the weather.

In a fit of anger, Sam spun, intent on getting the hell away from there, but as she did she nearly collided with Valerie. The dark-skinned girl was leaning with narrowed eyes at the entryway of the Warrior faction, her fingers tapping rhythmically on her crossed arms. Sam realized she never left.

Sam decided to ignore her and strode off, pretending not to feel the acidic glare burning holes into her back as she walked away.

**XXX**

She hadn't meant to come here, at least not consciously. The walk began as a way to quell the frothing pits of her anger, before her temper got the better of her and she did something she would come to regret. She hadn't even known where she was going until she was there, her hand resting on the knob of the door and her feet planted on the plushness of a shag carpet.

There were not many people Sam considered worthy enough to bestow upon the golden crown that was friendship. There was a friendship that she shared with Tucker, strongly rooted with the birthday of its second decade. There were friends that had become enemies, a prime example being one of Sam's former best friends, Valerie Gray. There were also the Fentons, a friendship that extended into a sort of family relation that was comforting as well as cumbersome, but nonetheless welcome.

Perhaps the strangest friendship that existed was one that had developed in the past two years since the human race went underground. It was the unlikely friendship, forged on the premise of destruction, and welded together through a mutual understanding of loss and pain.

Without knocking, Sam strode into the small shop that was run by a blind girl, and who was a weaver of art. The blind girl had no real standing within the politics of the Resistance, but her parents were prominent enough to fund her supplies and wellbeing. The weavings were mismatched and strange, but somehow beautiful and surprisingly intricate. Amazing, really, with the contrast of colors that would normally not be found together but here they were.

The moment Sam's combat boot made contact with the carpeted floor, the girl instantaneously recognized her, just by the sound of booted feet striding across the plushness of the carpet. "Hello, Sam," she said in a heavy Spanish accent. "What can I do for you today?" She turned and released a radiant smile. Sightless green eyes stared off into the distance.

In spite of herself, Sam smiled. Despite their differences and history, Sam was always amazed at how close they'd become, and at how much she genuinely valued this girl's insight. She found herself recounting the story she had told only once before of an event that had taken place a mere two days prior. Of a ghost that had let her live. Of the secrets that were blossoming like wildflowers around the ghost. Of a ghost that she couldn't get out of her mind.

Sightlessness has a way of allowing one to see what others cannot.

The blind girl listened silently and intently, her hands continuously working at her weave. Once a shallow princess, the blind girl was now considered to be clinically insane by Compound psychologists. Nobody believed her when she said that a ghost had saved her life when everything went to hell two years ago, claiming that the events leading up to her resulting blindness had set loose a few screws (screws Sam was convinced she never had to begin with). But Sam, now for the first time, was beginning to entertain the idea of believing the blind girl herself.

After all, those who were deemed insane by governmental standards were often closer to reality than anyone else, as their minds unconfirmed and free. So for once, and only in the presence of the blind girl, the traitorous confusion swirling in the pits of Sam's mind now tumbled incoherently from her mouth. The blind girl would understand. And she did. Sam's words would not be falling upon deaf ears.

During the tale, the blind girl, Paulina Sanchez, smiled.

* * *

_Thanks for reading, everyone!_

_-Roar_


	5. The World without End

**UPDATE 9/20/2014: THE FIRST FOUR CHAPTERS ARE NOW COMBINED AND UPDATED. THIS IS WHY THE CHAPTER COUNT HAS CHANGED!**

* * *

**IMPORTANT! Just so you are all aware, I have begun the slow process of updating previous chapters, namely the first three. Updates include, but are not limited to: extended interactions between Sam and Phantom; significant use of a photo of the Fenton twins on Maddie's supercomputer; a more eloquent description of the Compound and are what now being called "factions"; more insight on the war's effect on the general population, and so on. Also, the first few chapters are now combined to eliminate redundancy. **

**Just needed to clear up a lot of clutter. Thanks for your time and meet me at the end for a typical author's note.**

* * *

**Epíphantos**

**Chapter Five:**

_**The World without End**_

* * *

Sam felt the familiar twinges of excitement in the tensioning of her nerves as she readied herself. Dressed in her formfitting ecto-protective leather jumpsuit and standing amongst her Warrior kin, she did her best to quell her anxiety. It was bubbling in the pits of her stomach, thus causing her to cough and sputter. The conversation between her and the woefully blind Paulina Sanchez flashed to the forefront of her mind and it was all she could do to shake it away, but not before the nervousness settled in a shroud over her once more.

"Alright, kiddies!" a man, Dale Barbara, suddenly shouted causing Sam to jump. He entered the room with an armful of gleaming weaponry, followed closely by his companions, Willie Shoemaker and Dick Belair, whom wielded boxes containing various weapons and other FENTONWORKS contraptions.

The first man, Barbara, ruffled the hair at the top of Sam's head and offered her one of his sincerest smiles. He was a man of his late thirties, broad in the shoulders, and a bit of a womanizer, but he was also one of the Warrior's most efficient unit commanders as well as an unabashed hater of their Warrior leader, Mister-Fucking-Masters. Sam was a firm believer that it was the latter that most of his charm originated from. Not to mention Barbara had also been mentored by the renowned Teslaff. Despite her mood, she found herself smiling as she slapped his hand away.

Barbara was chuckling as he shuffled to the center of the room and dropped his box to the floor. The weapons inside rattled audibly. Shoemaker and Belair quickly followed suite, each dropping their respective boxes next to one and other.

The room fell into an eerie silence as the seriousness of the situation grappled everyone into attention. Beside her, Sam saw Dash Baxter shift nervously—a feat that seemed odd for a man his size. To his left was Kwan Sharigon, but to Sam's right was Valerie Grey. With the realization of the impending power failure, brought on by lack of spectral energy powerful enough to fuel the Compound's neutralizing core, Damon Grey had issued a raid of the Wastelands. It would be the first time any of the newer recruits would venture beyond Amity's borders.

The tension in the room was nearly palpable as apprehension settled heavily on those within Sam's vicinity. The older guys—Barbara, Shoemaker, and Belair—seemed to revel in it, grinning at the kids' distress. Willie Shoemaker, a burly man with a gnarled beard was the first to break the silence. "I'm thinkin' the fresh meat looks a li'le scared, eh, Dick?" the man said in a gravelly voice that was just as rough as the rest of him.

Dick Belair laughed boisterously and elbowed Shoemaker in the gut. "I think you're right." Where Shoemaker was big, Belair was small. He was the oldest of the three and miniscule in comparison to the other men, but he was exceptionally lethal for his sixty-seven years. He coughed out a laugh before turning to Barbara, saying, "You think most of 'em will make it out today?" Sam tried not to laugh as Dash visibly straightened, his eyes widened in obvious alarm.

Barbara smiled but said nothing more to address them. He instead turned his attention towards the four recruits standing in a semicircle around him. "Ignore them. You all will make it out alive." He paused, long enough to meet the eyes of each of them, lingering on Sam's. "But _only _if you listen to me, follow your orders, and remember your training." With that said, he began dispensing weapons and personal safety equipment from the boxes. "Playtime's over, kiddies."

Sam's heart jumped excitedly in her chest despite her newly-recognized reservations for ghost hunting. She had always wanted to venture beyond Amity's boarders, into the surrounding forests and abandoned roadways that were now being identified as the aforementioned Wastelands. However, along with her excitement, she also reserved enough room for her caution. The Wastelands were none to be trifled with as it was there that the darkest, most powerful spirits lurked.

Sam once again found herself thinking about Phantom.

Phantom, a ghost that had spared her life. A ghost that Paulina Sanchez had recognized immediately through her description of him.

"He saved my life," she'd said, with her fingers working meticulously at a weave tinged with green. "It sounds crazy, I know, but he did and I remember." Then, in a voice that drifted much lower so that Sam had to strain herself to hear it, Paulina had said, "I remember because he was the last thing I ever saw."

The memory of her conversation with the blind girl encompassed every moment of her dreams for the two days thereafter, preluding Sam into her forbidden thoughts upon waking. Confident as she was, she hated questioning herself, her morals, as she'd always taken pride in her understanding of the metaphorical line that differentiated right and wrong.

But now . . . now she was swimming in uncertainly, fearing how precarious her balance had become as her line continued to wane. What was Phantom? There was obviously a difference between him and other ghosts, but what was it?

Was there even a difference? Sam bit her lip at the implications. Ghosts were evil—but were all of them?

She nearly fell to the ground when Dash Baxter suddenly elbowed her in the shoulder. His voice was loud with the exclamation of: "Ready to whoop some ass, Manson?"

Stammering, she tried to quell the madness of her nerves. Drawing herself out of her traitorous wonderings, she faced Dash with the most confident of her smiles. "Sure am!" She met his knuckles with her own, and Kwan's as well, momentarily enamored by the group's lively spirit. It instantly vanished, however, when she met the steely gaze of Valerie Grey. The two girls shared a fiery look as the familiar competitive air drifted between them.

"Make sure you stay out of my way, Manson." Valerie's voice was a growl.

Sam had just opened her mouth to retort when Vlad Masters suddenly strode regally into the room. At least he'd attempted to stride in regally. Sam believed his walk made him appear as if he had a huge stick shoved constantly up his ass—a thought she enjoyed immensely.

Following closely behind Masters was none other than Damon Grey, the current leader of the Resistance. Standing shoulder to shoulder with Masters, Grey surveyed the room with calculating eyes. Sam watched as he met his daughter's gaze and the slightest of smiles graced the corners of his mouth whilst Valerie responded with a smug one of her own. Grey then made eye contact with Sam and nodded once, acknowledging her.

Damon Grey was a large, heavily-built man with skin as dark as his daughter's. Having served Amity for nearly eleven years as Warrior leader, he now ran the Resistance with military stringency and precision. Reminiscent of his years in the service was the dark eye patch concealing the remains of his left eye. It was nestled in a throng of white scars that overlapped amongst the planes of his face.

Despite the bad blood that currently ran river-like between her and Valerie, Sam felt nothing but upmost respect towards the man. Despite the toughness of his exterior, Damon Grey had a heart of molten gold and an iron fist of determination.

The room was rigid with an attentive silence. The new recruits stood before Grey with bated breath, saucer-like eyes wide with nervousness as he assessed each and every one of them. Sam held herself high, just as Teslaf and taught her to do, with her chin jutted and eyes that never broke their sturdy gaze.

After a few moments of silence that seemed to drag on for hours, Grey finally spoke. "I'm proud to say that each and every one of you deserves to stand where you are right now," he began, pausing for emphasis. "I have watched you grow for the past few years from nitwit rookies"—he waited momentarily for the snickers to abate—"to recognized and efficient Warriors. A feat that is not easy by any means, and truly commendable.

"You have all participated in raids already, but this will be your first time in the Wastelands." Grey's brows fell low over his eyes as his face became grim. "This is no laughing matter. I cannot promise you will all come home tonight, although it is my greatest hopes that you will. You _must _stay alert and stay together at all times. The people of our world depend on you, and if you must remember anything, remember this: when you fail—_we all fail_."

Sam felt her heart palpitating roughly in her chest at Grey's words, her confidence waning with each minute that ticked further into history. She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. For once in her life, Sam couldn't find it in herself to feel confident.

"_What makes you so sure that what you know about ghosts is all there is to know?"_—Phantom's words.

Sam blanched, even as Damon Grey's eyes appraised her questioningly. "Something wrong, Sam?"

Sam shook her head, glad that her voice didn't quaver when she responded, "No, sir."

Damon held her gaze a moment longer before he nodded once. He then turned to address the man beside him. "Any words you'd like to say to your recruits, Vlad?"

Masters nodded. Stepping forward with his hands behind his back, he said, "While I'd love to entertain you all with an endearing speech in an attempt to ignite your righteous souls, I will instead remain brief." Masters paused long enough to share a smile with Valerie and offer Sam the most charming of sneers. When he spoke again, his voice was as cold as ice. "The world out there is scary, children, and it is in the best of your interests to follow the rules your superiors have created for you."

_Or else_, Sam added in her head as she glared at Masters, not allowing herself to become intimidated by the thin veil of his threat. She and the other Warriors assembled together, shoulders pressed against shoulders, breaths of air mixing together as one. She shifted the pack she carried higher onto her shoulder and slipped the FENTONWORKS goggles over her head so they hung loosely at her throat.

Pushing Phantom and his words to the back of her mind, Sam forced herself to take a deep, calming breath.

She had a job to do.

**XXX**

The hazy green sun was high in the sky, listless ectoplasmic clouds churning lazily in the slight wind. Silence enveloped the area, even as booted feet crept across the field towards the barbed fence. There was a slight whine as ectoguns blared to life, the sound of fingers disengaging safety locks and brushing triggers. Heart beats fluttered, breaths quickening as adrenaline surged. Together they stepped through the dilapidated fence; together they took their first tentative steps outside Amity.

Dale Barbara was leading the pack. He walked with silent steps, his gun lowered and ready to fire. Willie Shoemaker and Dick Belair flanked the group with cautious eyes.

To her left was Dash Baxter; to her right was Valerie Grey. Kwan Sharigon was behind her.

Sam could hardly contain her enthusiasm as she giddily stepped forward past the barrier of Amity Park. Her boot crunched on the hard earth as the Wastelands seemingly welcomed her arrival. The air was chilly but the sun made her feel warm, even as the springtime wind rustled through her clothes and hair. Unable to prevent its formation, a smile instantly dominated her face.

For the first time in years Sam was able to see the slight silhouettes of the mountains that bordered Amity Park. The ectoplasmic contamination of the environment had become so thick that it obscured visibility from the city, shortening perceptibility to less than a mere mile. Here though, she could see the mountains as well as the line of trees that encircled the edges of the field. Though the visage remained foggy, it slowly cleared the closer she approached.

Curious, Sam slipped her goggles over her eyes. When her view remained blank, she pulled them away wanting to conserve whatever charge was left within the batteries. She checked the ectosensor at her wrist, but the needle simply danced the slightest bit in reaction to the environment. She shifted the pack at her shoulder uncertainly. No ghosts.

At least, not yet.

Ahead of her Barbara turned slightly to look over his shoulder. He nodded once, and then jutted his chin towards an opening in the line of trees where the deserted roads began. Unanimously the group followed him, understanding his directive with the utmost efficiency. Years of training and experience combined allowed the group to travel as a collective unit. Upon reaching the roadway, they began winding through the maze of abandoned vehicles.

The roads were a disarray of rubble and a chaotic assortment of toppled and crushed heaps of metal. Sam felt sadness pulling at her heart as she passed the forgotten cars. Coated in shrubbery, it felt wrong to pass them now after their fifteen years of isolation. The metal had long since oxidized from shiny steel into a mesh of rust and Swiss cheese, hindering what remained of the faded coats of paint. Many were empty with doors still yawning wide after their owners had abandoned them, but in many more remained the unfortunate souls whom had not been able to escape.

The farther away from the city she walked, the more tomblike the cars became. Corpses forever encased within their steeled housings, eyeless sockets wide and mouths forever screaming. Sam couldn't contain the shiver that edged its away up her spine as she passed a shattered window with the corpse of a child still slumped within in her car seat. Sam could tell she was female by the ratty pink clothing that hung loose from her mummified skin and the tangled wisps of dirty blonde hair.

Dash nearly retched at the sight, elbowing Sam until their eyes locked and an odd sense of camaraderie drifted between them. Sam saw a mirror image of the sadness she felt reflecting in the irises of his eyes, and she smiled wryly despite it all. Even Valerie empathized when she met Sam's gaze, equally devastated and shaking her head as if to ward away the evils of the world they lived in. Behind them all tears fell to the ground from Kwan's eyes as he wept for the little girl and what must have been her mother, who lay draped across the dash in various pieces while half of her remained strapped to the seat.

The Warrior veterans remained unfazed as they trudged resolutely through the throng of human debris, firmly pushing the newer recruits along the path after Barbara. Their pace was brisk yet cautious, long steps taken on balanced toes so hardly any noises were made. When Kwan remained immobile, eyes focused in morbid fascination on the body of the girl, Shoemaker shoved him roughly in the middle of the back with the butt of his blaster. Kwan fell forward and nearly tripped but Belair grabbed and steadied him, then pointed for him to follow the group. Kwan sheepishly obliged.

The group of rebels had walked nearly a mile now, the city behind them barely visible through the ectoplasmic film saturating the atmosphere. The roadway and the surrounding forest were completely silent aside from the occasional animal calls. The sounds reverberated through the air, seemingly resounding off the trunks of trees. Sam saw Dash jump every time and soon his brow began to perspire from his uneasiness.

Despite the situation, Sam became fascinated as the shape of the mountains sharpened, emerging through the greenish haze and towering above her in the form of skyward fingers. Trees surrounded her, aligning the road. Some were toppled over and crisscrossing over her path so she had to clamber awkwardly over them, all the while being careful not to disturb the precious and fragile cargo she carried within her pack. It was vitally important, she knew, that the Fenton's patrol probe remained undamaged. Fingers tightening over her shoulder strap, she pressed on.

After a few more minutes of walking, Barbara suddenly slowed and then stopped, halting his entourage. His eyes made contact with Sam's before he pointed to her pack, nodding once, then pointed towards the sky.

Understanding settled in immediately. Sam knelt and opened her pack and as she did Valerie crouched beside her, hands held outwards to help. Together the two girls pulled apart Sam's pack and began the process of setting up the FENTONWORKS ENVIRONRMENTAL ANALYSIS probe for release. The thing instantly _whirred _to life, lights blinking in initiation. It vibrated as it calibrated and when it completed its cycle it beeped softly, completely activated.

Sam smiled, pleased at the simplicity. She then began to lift it into the air for release, but as she did a sudden movement at her wrist caught her eye. The needle within the face of her ectosensor went from its methodic dance to a sudden halt—then snapped high into the orange zone.

There was a split second in time in which Sam remained shock still, uncomprehending the sudden change. It was when the shrill beeping began to ring loudly in her ears from seven different sources and Barbara's sudden shouts of "AMBUSH! AMBUSH! AMBUSH!" that snapped Sam out of her momentary stupor. The Fenton probe lurched from her hands as she reeled around in search of the offending specter, her newly powered ectogun clasped expertly between her hands.

Behind her the probe began its clumsy accent into the sky. It didn't last long, however, because a powerful ectopasmic blast instantly collided with it. It detonated in an explosion of white light and a shower of sparks, the metal pieces of its body pelting Sam in the back.

"HOLD YOUR GROUND!" Barbara screeched.

But what good would that do? There were hundreds of them. The glowing monsters with their translucent bodies rippling, even in the lack of wind. Within their ethereal bodies were the shimmering white orbs of their cores. Mouths hung open as the spooks screamed, commencing their ambush with deathly precision. The numbers were overwhelming; the previous silence shattered by hundreds of screaming and snarling ghouls.

Not daring to reach for her thermos, Sam instead began blasting them as panic settled heavily in her belly, drawing upwards into full blown terror. In her peripheral she saw her Warrior kin begin to do the same as the battle commenced from ambush to war.

Sam screamed as she was thrown backwards by a powerful blast, her head spinning and ringing from a blow to her head.

"SAM!" Valerie screamed. She was blasting furiously as the ghosts bombarded her. "SAM! NO!"

Sam saw Barbara get struck directly in his side, his arm now hanging useless as he continued to blast with his other hand; Shoemaker and Belair were back to back, voices loud as they screamed and fired; Dash's voice was pitched high in fright as he was thrown to his back; Kwan's eyes were full of terrified tears as he lifted Dash to his feet.

Valerie broke her way through the chaos, fingers extending and reaching for Sam's. Her horrified eyes were wide, nostrils flared, raven hair singed and flying. She leaped and a made a reach for Sam, just as Sam groggily sat up and tried to meet her halfway with a hand of her own—

Their hands missed when a gaggle of spooks seized Sam under her arms and drug her skywards, high into the hazy green fog of the sky and over the tops of trees.

Sam screamed as her senses came back to her in a rush of cold air at her face. She flailed uselessly before she managed to fire a shot at the ghosts carrying her.

There was an intense bout of hissing and then suddenly—

Suddenly, she was falling.

Wind ripped through her lungs and her throat became raw with her throaty screams. Fortunately when the ghosts dropped her she had been close enough to the treetops to grapple hold of one of the many branches. Her gun fell from her hands and to the forest floor as the branch slithered through her grasp. She could feel the thousands of splinters as they imbedded themselves in her hands and the friction burned immensely.

When the branch snapped under her weight, she thought not about the pain, but instantly reached blindly for the next.

And the next.

Branches continuously broke from her weight as well as her collision with those she did not grab. Sam could think of nothing else but survival, thankful for the generous amount of adrenaline currently surging through her system.

When she finally hit the ground the sound of bone cracking resounded loudly through her ears, temporarily incapacitating her as the wind was rushed from her lungs during impact. Her hands were numb and slick with her blood; her left wrist was throbbing with pain and a bulge protruded from the joint of her elbow. She lay there, gasping for air but miraculously _alive_.

She tried to sit up but her face instantly became wet with blood. She wiped it away, only for it to fall thickly over her brow yet again. A few feet to her right was her ectogun and she reached for it. Once the weapon was firmly grasped in her uninjured hand, she tried to stand. Wooziness overcame her instantly and she fell to her bottom. She waited for the world to become still before she tried again. This time she managed to remain standing, but had to brace herself against a tree in an attempt to combat the tilting of her vision.

Bile rose into her throat and she immediately emptied the contents of her stomach at her feet. Tears were forming in her eyes, falling down her cheeks and mingling with her blood. Somewhere inside her chest several broken ribs ached, making breathing extremely painful.

_I'm going to die, _she thought.

In the distance she heard screams.

There was no way in hell she would go down without a fight.

Steeling herself, Sam took her first steps since the fall, tentatively at first, but once the wobbling subsided she began to pick up her speed. Her injured arm stayed firmly to her chest whilst her other held her ectogun, aimed and ready to fire. Uncaring about how loud she was being she followed the sounds of the screams. At least she tried to. Disorientation quickly shrouded over her, enveloping her in a mass of hysteria. She became frantic, furiously wiping away blood from her face with the sleeve of her suit.

Then, as if to remind her things could always get worse, a familiar chill crept through her veins.

Something suddenly _snapped _behind her.

Sam whirled around.

Standing before her had to be the strangest ghost she had ever seen. With furrowed brows it was hard to tell if what she was seeing was even real, or a product of her dying mind producing a strange visage to scare her into her death. She stood squinting at it, her ectogun charged with her finger slightly depressing the trigger.

The specter was massive, wide as it was tall with a mass of white fur. It had a wide snout barely containing its massive fangs and underbite. Parts of its limbs seemed to be encased in ice, skeletal members beneath flexing with movement and blue sinews undulating. The ghostly chill was much more intense than she had ever experienced, frigid in its closeness to her, and its core remained enclosed within its form.

She had just been about to pull the trigger when it began to speak.

"Please!" it said in a deep voice. Usually when ghosts spoke their words were nearly indecipherable. But this one had a voice she understood with perfect clarity.

"Please," it said again. "Please don't shoot, human girl, I beg you. I do not mean you any harm. I only mean to find Daniel." Its eyes were pleading, large paws—one of fur, the other of ice—splayed wide to signify its defenselessness.

She stood, glaring unbelievingly at the ghost before her (and who the _hell _was Daniel?) She was going to shoot it. She was. Now that her blaster had been repowered it would easily obliterate the ghoul with a snap of her finger. She traced the trigger of her gun, intent upon depressing it, when—

"_What makes you so sure that what you know about ghosts is all there is to know?"_

The familiar challenge reverberated through her skull and she frowned at the thoughts swarmed her from the depths of her mind. She loosened her resolve slightly, her head pounding and her vision filling with blood once more.

_"Why are you so different from other ghosts?"—_these words, she remembered, had been hers.

_At this, Phantom had smiled. The words that came next had been the ones to haunt her._

A memory of her conversation with the blind girl suddenly flashed to her awareness, about how Phantom had saved her life. They had spent hours together that night, she and Sam, and Sam had listened to the blind girl's crazy theories of a world where ghosts were not all evil. Sam had watched her weave the eerie green tapestry, lips smiling as the blind girl recounted her tale.

The memory stifled her. Her heart pounded as the blood came thicker. She wiped it away furiously and locked eyes with the ghost before her. Wide eyes met hers in a similar expression of fear, no doubt a mirror image of her own, effectively shattering what was left of her resolution.

Her ectogun whirred loudly as she lowered it and it powered down. It then fell to her feet with an audible _fwump_. The silence that followed was nearly palpable with disbelief, but Sam didn't notice. Her vision became a clotted mess of thick blood and white stars, a red film that left her blind. She stood there, wondering when the ghost would finally kill her.

But the blow never came.

Instead she collapsed, gratefully welcoming the blanket of darkness that enveloped her, sweet and painless.

**XXX**

**.**

**.**

**.**

Her consciousness swirls around her.

Fading in . . .

Fading out.

She is cold, though, encased in the freezing arms of death and she shivers violently.

Her body is swathed in something soft.

Darkness again.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**XXX**

**.**

**.**

**.**

Words now, flitting in and out.

" _. . . Something has happened. . ."—"What do you mean she . . ."—". . . we are in need of you at . . ."—". . . what happened out th . . ."_

Unintelligible murmurs.

Her eyes open and she is greeted by blurry images of color and something odd and white that lines her vision.

She blinks, and with the slightest moments of clarity she sees green eyes that are somehow familiar but she can't remember why. They come closer now, glowing and flecked with the slightest hints of blue.

Then the pain settles heavily and she allows herself to sleep once more.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**XXX**

**.**

**.**

**.**

A strange feeling.

Cold.

So much cold—

Numbing the pain, but now she's hurting from the frigidity. It sears her like fire.

She feels as if she's in a world that does not end.

So she closes her eyes.

**.**

**.**

**.**

**XXX**

_Samantha Manson crawls happily along the edge of the glowing green dome, not caring that her dress is getting icky with stains. _

The dome is pretty_, she thinks, with her hand smudging the earth and picking up handfuls of mud. She falls back on her diaper bottom, chubby legs splayed out beneath her as she traces a muddy had through the air where the glow is at its brightest. She giggles as the dome zings her, sending funny tingles up her arm. _It tickles, it tickles, it tickles! _Her giggles turn to laughs._

_Attracted to the strange noise a _thingy _comes bounding along and Samantha sees the most peculiar sight she ever saw. There, standing before her on the other side of the dome is a funny looking green puppy. It is see-through and is sniffing the air where Samantha's hand has just been. Its silly teeny-tiny tail wags and Samantha laughs again, amused by how funny looking it is. _

_The puppy pauses, cocking its head to the side as it listens to her laugh. Then it jumps, placing its paws against the shield. Its tongue flops out of its mouth as it smiles and yips at her, with the teeny-tiny tail still wig-waggling around. _

Why doesn't it fall through? _Samantha thinks to herself. Unlike the puppy, when Samantha reaches her little fist out to touch the glowing green wall it passes through like magic! She did it now, sticking her hand all the way out and giggling once more at the tingles it sends up her arm. The puppy stops with its tongue-thing and begins to sniff her hand curiously. That tickles more than anything and Samantha laughs even more loudly than before._

_The puppy barks again and then licks her hand. Its tongue is silky and slimy and Samantha is thinking it is the most amazing thing she has ever felt! She claps her hands and crawls out towards the puppy. The puppy makes more happy sounds, bouncing around and wiggling its whole bottom. The two play together then, chasing each other and having fun. _

_When Samantha reaches for the puppy it falls over on its back and she pats its chubby belly. _

_Today was the best day ever!_

"_Sammykins!" Mommy suddenly yells. "Sammykins, where are you?"_

_Samantha smiles and picks up the strange green puppy in her arms. _Mommy will love him too! _she thinks cheerfully. _Maybe we can keep him!

_She is so excited to show Mommy, but when Mommy sees her with the puppy she screams. _

"_Samantha! Samantha, no! Oh my god! Jeremey! Somebody, somebody help!"_

_Samantha doesn't understand why she is screaming, but then other people are screaming too! Suddenly she is ripped away from the puppy and it _hurts_. Mommy grabs her and cries, pulling Samantha tightly to her chest and that hurts too. Why is everybody so sad and scared? Over Mommy's shoulder she sees the puppy get chased away by men with glowing guns, its teeny-tiny tail is tucked between its legs as it runs away yelping._

_Samantha truly doesn't understand and tears begin welling in her eyes._

_Why did grown-ups gotta be so mean? _

**XXX**

The memory swirled, dreamlike, then faded away into the deepest recesses of her mind.

As she woke, her thoughts seemed to regain their clarity. The pain had lessoned and her breaths came easy. She lay there, relishing the easy feeling of breathing and a consciousness that seemed to maintain itself. The world was dark and memories eluded her. Where was she now? What had happened to her kin?

Momentarily frightened by the prospect of what lay ahead and knowing the best way to face it was head on, Sam took a deep, calming breath—

And then opened her eyes.

* * *

_A/N: Woohoo, finally getting the ball rolling now. Thank you to everyone for your continued support. This is my favorite chapter by far. I love writing suspense. How'd I do? I didn't get as much feedback with the last chapter, which is fine, but I just hope I'm not boring you guys. Your reviews literally make my day, no joke. So keep 'em coming!_

_So what do you guys think is going to happen next? Cookies if you guess right! Also, question: What the hell is Kwan's surname? I couldn't find it anywhere so I made it up at the last minute. As I was writing, I referred to him as "NONAME," so if for some reason that title is floating around somewhere let me know so I can fix it. I _think _I got them all, anyway._

_Thanks again for everything, guys! I'm going camping all next week so the next chapter might be a little bit. We'll see._

_-Roar_


	6. Everything Unethical

**UPDATE 9/20/2014: THE FIRST FOUR CHAPTERS ARE NOW COMBINED AND UPDATED. THIS IS WHY THE CHAPTER COUNT HAS CHANGED!**

**Thank you for your patience. Let me know if there are any mistakes with time changes!**

* * *

**Epíphantos**

**Chapter Six:**

_**Everything Unethical**_

* * *

Sam opened her eyes only to shut them once more, wincing at the sudden brightness. She pinched her fingers over the bridge of her nose in an attempt to alleviate the migraine she'd woken up with. Calming herself with another breath of air, she swung her legs over the side of the strange fuzzy cot she had been sleeping on. _Where the hell am I? _she thought to herself. She didn't remember the Compound infirmary being this . . . well, bright.

Grogginess was the heavy weight at her temples instigating her confusion. With a hand still cupped at her forehead and protecting her from the bright glare of the lights, Sam attempted to stand. She winced when her toes came into contact with the icy cold floor and fell back onto her arms. Suddenly, she was gasping in pain at the stress her weight placed on her elbow. Pressing the arm to her chest, she lowered the hand from her brow and stared at her hands in confusion.

_What happened to me? _she thought.

Her ectosuit had been removed leaving her exposed in the thin jumpsuit she wore underneath. Bandages were wrapped around her injured arm and both of her hands. As the hazy cloud of incomprehension began to lift, she could feel more gauze at her ribcage and around her head. It quelled the throbbing beat of pain in a manner that had Sam frowning. She began to finger the material, entranced by the oddity of it. It was nothing like she had ever felt before.

_Otherworldly. _

Realization slammed into her heart, and her head snapped up.

Ice caressed a room of stone, crystalline and beautiful. The room—no the cave—was completed by a delicate blue masonry. Wrapped within winding columns of ice at the ceiling, a glow of light emanated, enhanced by its reflection in the pillars to create a wondrous cascade of rainbows. Strange monitors flashed along the far side of the wall, out of place in the ice and stone. The room itself was rather small. Looking down, she noticed her "cot" was actually a ledge of ice that protruded from the wall. The softness and warmth was a result of a pile of white fur and woven blankets.

Sam frowned as her confusion deepened. She could recall the faintest wisp of her memories: soft voices that spoke hurriedly. She remembered white fur that had protected her from a frigid coldness. She had been rescued, but by whom? Perhaps the ghost had left her after she collapsed. Or maybe it was chased off by a rogue band of humans who then brought her . . . here. But then how did that explain the ice? It was spring; the ice had melted weeks ago.

Her fingers tightened, forming white-knuckled fists that gripped her blanket. As her muddled mind continued to clear itself, another thought occurred to her: _Where is everyone else? _She looked around again, as if to reaffirm to herself that the room was still empty. It was. Her stomach flip-flopped with dread. She began backtracking through her memories, recalling the last sighting of her group. She remembered Valerie Grey, screaming with an outstretched hand as she dived recklessly through a throng of ghosts, reaching for Sam but missing . . .

What had happened to Valerie, and everyone else? After the ghosts seized Sam, the fleeting image of her Warrior kin was of their backs as they fired and screamed, disappearing into small specks flocked by a hoard of apparitions. Were they even still alive?

Sam shook her head and bit her lip, hard. _Don't think like that_, she told herself. _Of course they're still alive. _

She felt herself begin to shiver the longer she was exposed to the air of the room. Pulling the heavyweight blanket from her cot over her shoulders, she cocooned herself within its bulk. Oddly enough, the blanket was also made out of a strange material Sam couldn't identify. She found herself warmed by it, instantly entrapping her body heat. Gritting her teeth against the cold and the bareness of her feet, she stepped onto the floor.

Wooziness overcame her in the slightest flash of vertigo, but Sam ignored. She began to make her way towards the exit of the room, uncomforted by her lack of weapon. She figured that her rescuers did not to want to harm her, considering her current state. She wondered, though, what had happened to the odd looking ghost from her memory. Did it truly leave her unharmed, or had her saviors rescued her from a certain death at its clutches?

Her thoughts were quelled upon stepping into the hallway. Voices echoed from somewhere unseen, boisterous and demanding. Sam felt her heart to begin to flutter. Her steps were long and slow, her breath hitching with apprehension as she followed them. Finally, she saw where the light began to differentiate itself; rainbows dancing along the floor of another entryway.

Sam choked on her heart and began to slide her back along the wall in an attempt to remain inconspicuous. There was no way to look into the room without exposing herself, so she edged as close to the entrance as she could get with her ears perked.

" . . . What do you mean you brought a human here, Frostbreath?" a voice demanded, resounding unearthly. "It could spell for us our imminent death! Are you mad?"

Another voice chuckled. "Oh come now, Icefang. Let us not be melodramatic," it responded. "She was injured. I couldn't just leave her to her death."

The angry voice again: "Why not? Had it not been injured it would have destroyed you without an ounce of hesitation. And now you bring it here to kill all of us? That _thing _is a _monster_!"

"Perhaps we can learn from her!"

"Humans are nothing but murderers, that is all there is to learn!" shouted the voice of a female. "They are horrible creatures."

There was a moment of shuffling—something sharp scraping against the floor and a new voice bellowed, "Enough! There are more pressing matters at hand other than the fate of the human girl. I will see to her, but for now I want nothing more to do with the subject. Understood?"

"Yes, Frostbite," the angry voice—Icefang—agreed.

There were other consenting murmurs, some accentuated by irritated growls. The rest of their conversation, however, was drowned out by the impossible racing of Sam's heart. It was pounding, choking her, while an intense bout of realization stifled her. She was horrified, having reached the conclusion that her rescuers—no, her captors—were not human.

_What the hell is going on? _Her thoughts raced. She pushed off the wall, intent on her retreat. The need to get away from the predators was encompassing. She needed find a weapon, and figure out how to get away from these monsters before they found her awake. Even though she couldn't understand why she was still alive, she wasn't about to hold her breath and find out.

What she did not take into consideration was the bulk of her blanket. While it had trailed behind her as she walked, it now tangled around her legs in her attempt to flee. She tripped, falling to the floor with a _thump _that echoed along the walls of the cave. She scrambled back to her feet, but not before hearing the categorical exclamation of: "It's awake!"

What followed were the sounds of scraping—claws, now she realized—as the occupants of the room came barreling out into the hallway.

Cursing herself, Sam tried to run but instead stumbled forward in an awkward haste. One of the beasts behind her was growling, unintelligible shouts ringing in her ears from the others. She yelped as a thick, furry fist yanked the blanket from her shoulders and grabbed her roughly at the back of the neck.

Sam found herself staring into the haunting red eyes of the monster. White fangs glinted under the eerie glow of the light. The beast was roaring, somehow forming words as it screamed, "You see, it came to _kill_ us!" It began shaking her, pain searing within old injures and igniting them like fire. She flailed uselessly, pushing as hard as she could on the hand at her throat. "It's here to learn all our secrets and murder all of us!"

Another beast came from behind it. This one was massive, seizing her assailant by its hackles and throwing it roughly into the wall. Behind it another beast that she recognized from the Wastelands, grappled her offender into a crude headlock. They fought amongst themselves, growling and spitting at each other until the more angry of the two eventually clamed, relegating instead to low growls of protest.

Sam lied sprawled on the floor, her injured arm cradled to her chest as she choked on a mouthful of saliva and blood. Not only had she been choked by a deathlike grip, but the wind had rushed from her lungs when she hit the ground. She was gasping as broken ribs that had yet to heal wailed in protest. Even though she hated herself for her weakness, she couldn't help but feel vulnerable, exposed to this hallway of monsters, and figured it wouldn't be long before they were all fighting for the last sinew of meat from her bones.

The massive one stood with its back to her, separating her from the others. It spoke in a dangerous and commanding voice. "Let me make something clear to you all right now. Nobody touches the human girl. Nobody!" Sam recognized the voice as Frostbite.

The angry one—Icefang—growled from its headlock, teeth bared. "We should kill it now!"

"And where would that get us?" Frostbite challenged. "We're better than that, Icefang. This human is defenseless without the weapon we seized upon her arrival."

Sam couldn't bring herself to look up from the freezing floor. Tears were beading at the corners of her eyes and her head was throbbing. She was surprised, however, when a hand clad in white extended itself into her vision, offering to help her stand. Confused by the presence of a humanoid limb she finally allowed her eyes to drift upwards.

Her heart almost stopped when her gaze locked with the haunting green eyes of Phantom.

_What is he doing here?_ Thoughts and accusations became rapid in their formation. Nothing was making sense!

He was kneeling before her with his expressive eyes full of . . . worry? When she didn't take his hand, he instead reached for her blanket and pulled it snug around her shoulders. "Are you okay?" he whispered.

Despite her anger, Sam found she was too weak to conjure an abrasive front. Tiredness settled in her heart so she merely shook her head, tears slipping from her eyes and descending along her cheeks. What could she do? Injured, weaponless, and surrounded by a hoard of spectral monsters; she was powerless. In all her prowess, the infamous Sam Manson was _nothing_—could do _nothing_.

There were six ghosts total, and four of them were the gargantuan, white-furred monsters while the other two exhibited a rather humanlike appearance. Phantom was one of the two, still kneeling beside her. The other was female.

The female ghost was eyeing her with her green eyes blazing. She glared at Sam from underneath a chaotic fall of white bangs, arms crossed over her chest. It struck Sam how much the female resembled Phantom. She and Sam made eye contact, long enough for the ghost's glare to solidify into something akin to fear, her mouth hardening into a hard line, and then she took another step back until she became half-hidden in the entryway.

_The hell?_

Looking away from the female ghost, Sam realized that all five pairs of ethereal eyes were fixated on her. The seething Icefang had been released from the other one—Frostbreath's?—hold, regarding her in an unabashed loathing. The other ghosts, however, seemed to remain watchful and cautious. Sam felt herself begin to shrink underneath their steady gazes, but she attempted to conceal her fear with a bluff of confidence. She narrowed her eyes and began push herself until she stood before them with her shoulders squared.

She couldn't understand why the majority of them, save for Frostbite and Phantom, quickly took a step away from her. Was she really that terrifying?

The slightest of smiles graced Frostbite's toothy muzzle. "I am truly repentant, human, for the lack of decency expressed by my kin. It was not my intent to see you harmed." The ghost's head bowed. "It will not happen again, I assure you."

Sam gaped at the beast. She was rendered speechless, amazed by the eloquence of a primitive specter's speech. She didn't want to debase herself by conversing with it, but had to instead swallow her pride. _Information first, Manson_. "Where am I?" she asked. The irony of their conversation was not lost on her. "And . . . why am I still alive?"

At this, Frostbite's smile widened. It—he turned and beckoned to the others behind him. "Frostbreath, please escort Icefang and Elle to the dining hall. I will join you shortly."

Frostbreath nodded. "Yes, brother."

When the others left, Frostbite had come to her side while the other spook, the nameless one, appeared at her other. Nervousness overcame her and she looked between them, unconsciously tightening the cloak of her strange blanket over her shoulders.

Frostbite was the first to speak in the pregnant silence. "I am sure you have questions."

Sam said, "That's a bit of an understatement." _Considering you haven't answered any of the ones I've asked so far, _she added her head.

Frostbite laughed. "Come, we will speak in the medical sector. You are not yet healed from your injuries. There was not much we could do in your unconscious state." Another wide smile. "It is not every day that we are given the opportunity to treat a human, after all."

Sam could think of nothing else to say, her mouth twisting into a frown. She found herself confused by the ghosts' façade of civility. What was its ulterior motive? Was it trying to lull her into a false sense of security in order to gain secrets of the human rebellion? Mistrust was the sour tart in her mouth, and she had to bite her tongue to keep from scowling. Now was not the time for rash decisions. She needed information first, and then she could begin to plan her escape. Maybe she could even capture a few of them for the Fentons.

But then there was the epic conundrum that was Phantom.

She didn't know what to think. She opted to follow the ghosts as they led her back into the room she woke up in, and all the while finding her eyes drawn to Phantom's back as he walked beside Frostbite. His clothing was that of woven whites and blues, correlating with the furs of the enormous beasts. He had maintained an odd sort of silence, a far cry from the arrogant front he'd displayed back in Amity. He almost seemed . . . nervous by her. But why?

"You must forgive me," Frostbite said as they entered the proclaimed medical sector. He turned to face her now. "Our meeting is a bit extraordinary, and I am unsure in how to proceed. Be it as it may, I am Frostbite, leader of the Far Frozen." The beast's massive bulk of his shoulders squared proudly.

Far Frozen? Sam frowned at the unfamiliarity of the name. She'd already determined Frostbite's name and position through the prior proceedings.

Sam did her best to appear naïve, nodding once. This prompted Frostbite to continue. He gestured to his side where the nameless beast stood and said, "This is Sleetjaw, our leading medical examiner." Sleetjaw bowed his head in acknowledgement to Frostbite's introduction. "He will do well to aide you in a swift recovery."

"I will do my best," Sleetjaw affirmed.

Then, Frostbite gestured to Phantom who seemed to be avoiding her gaze. "I understand you two have already met, but I would like to also include the formal introduction of my son, Daniel. He and his sister, Danielle, are destined to someday succeed me in the leadership of the Far Frozen."

_Wait, what?_

Daniel? What had happened to his name being "Phantom?" Also, what did the allegation of "son" mean when uttered from the mouth of a ghost? As far as she knew, ghosts couldn't reproduce. And even if they could, how would that explain their differences in species?

Phantom must have sensed her stare. Sam's eyes narrowed as their gazes locked and she found herself wishing more than ever that she had her weapon. There was a dangerous edge to her voice when she again asked, "Where am I?"

A frown drifted along the length of Frostbite's muzzle. "You are in the Far Frozen," he said, sensing the obvious tension.

"Why am I here?" This time she directed her words towards Phantom. She was livid from his silence. What was going on here? She could feel the blinding wall of her fury as it drifted hot and heavy over the atmosphere of the room.

This time Phantom had the good graces to speak. "Look, Sam—"

"_Don't call me that!_"

Phantom let out a frustrated breath and threw up his hands. "Fine, whatever! You were hurt. Frostbreath and I saved your life!"

"Ghosts aren't capable of saving lives! They only ruin them!"

She regretted the words as soon as she said them. Eyes widening she found herself taking a step back. Phantom was seething now, with a deadly gaze that simmered with fiery green. Sam felt her muscles tense, ready to flee, but was surprised when none of the ghosts initiated an attack. Instead, Frostbite and Sleetjaw were eyeing her as if she were a wounded animal with their deep red eyes full of sympathy.

Sam felt her anger dissipate and then fell to her cot, pulling her knees to her chest. She gritted her teeth as her arm throbbed. She hated herself for showing weakness in front of them, but couldn't find enough reason to care anymore. The bitter taste of failure began scratching at the back of her throat, and she wondered again about her Warrior kin. Were they looking for her? Where they even alive? Tears burned her eyes, and her chest heaved.

Breaking his silence, Sleetjaw began to approach her. "Human girl, I understand this is a confusing time for you," he said, "but I would like to help you. I can sense your pain. Now that you are awake I may be able to heal you." The large bulk of him was hovering over her, tender clawed hands reaching out to her as he kneeled to eye level.

"Don't touch me," Sam said, attempting to sound intimidating but failing. Her body ached and she longed to sleep, but the presence of the spirits surrounding chewed away at her nerves. Their stares were heavy—boring into her. What did they want with her, anyway?

The icy air was biting at her exposed skin and she shuddered. She hated herself for her weakness. "Why are you keeping me alive?" she asked him.

Frostbite was the one to answer. "My brother, Frostbreath, was the one to bring you here," he began. "From what he says, you spared his life when any other human would have destroyed him." His intense gaze was unceasing as he began to approach her. "He sensed in you what is not common in the souls of humans."

Sam's heart leapt, and for once it wasn't fear. "I wanted to destroy him."

"But you didn't. Why?"

Sam shrugged. She was beginning to wonder if this was all a dream, because the current situation was riddled with impossibilities. She shouldn't be sitting here, injured, surrounded by powerful ghosts, weaponless, and be able to maintain an amicable conversation as she stared into the blazing red eyes of an alpha. From what Maddie had told her, alphas were incapable of reason, and known for their extreme aggression. They were the dominant ghost within their hoard, maintaining stringent control over the others. Very few Warriors unfortunate enough to encounter one rarely returned, and _never _did they return unscathed.

Everything she had ever known about ghosts had been proven wrong within the past ten minutes. It just wasn't possible. She should be dead, her flesh stripped away and her soul eaten. There was no way she should be alive right now, and it was this thought that unnerved her more than anything. Killing her, she could understand. But keeping her alive . . .? She shuddered at the implications.

She took a moment to still her nerves, quelling the desire to reach for something to defend herself with. Instead, she asked, "What are you going to do with me?"

The beast sighed, and bluish ringlets of icy air danced along his muzzle. "We will first help you heal. And then, if you are willing, we intend to learn from you."

Her eyes narrowed in mistrust. "Learn from me?"

"You are very different from the humans we have experienced in the past."

Sam frowned, annoyed by the ambiguity of his response. The irony was not lost on her in its similarity, however, and she found herself shooting an offensive glare at Phantom. "I'm not sure what there is to learn about me. Unless you plan on dissecting me," she deadpanned.

Frostbite let out a roar of laughter that caused her and the other two ghosts to jump from its suddenness. "I assure you our intentions are not so invasive." The great beast smiled again, moving his icy arm in a way so it shimmered under the light. "It is my belief that a mutual understanding between us may be advantageous."

Sam was about to ask why, but the question fell away from her lips and was replaced with the grinding of her teeth. She had meant to shift to a more comfortable position on her cot, but had unintentionally moved her crooked arm in a way that caused it to throb. It was excruciating, and she found herself gasping at the pain.

Sleetjaw jumped into action, grabbing her by the shoulders and holding her steady. The other two ghosts came closer, surrounding her, and she began to protest. She tried to push the beast's hands away from her, but Sleetjaw was too strong. "Be calm, human, the more you fight the more you will hurt." His voice was soft and consoling as his clawed hands continued in their attempt to still her. She shuddered at his chilly touch.

"No, don't!" She hated the desperation that pitched her voice high. "_Don't touch me!_"

The ghost was unrelenting. "I only intend to help you."

She continued to fight against his hold, twisting her body free, but at the same time reigniting the pain. The ghost's frigid touch terrified her as its bulk pinned her down into the cot. It began unwrapping bandages, exposing her aching and unhealed wounds.

Amidst the flailing of her limbs and the obscenities that hissed through her teeth, a strange, cold feeling began pooling within her chest. Her vision began to swim with darkness, and then her body became filled with a white hot fire that burned her from the insides out.

Suddenly, she was screaming.

**XXX**

Tucker was in the midst of finishing up his lab work. He was working on the mind-numbing task of applying solder to a wired contraption, attempting in vain to distract himself. Mr. and Mrs. Fenton were at the supercomputer, waiting to initialize the patrol probe when Sam activated it. The whole day had been rather uneventful, despite the undertone of worry that always accompanied a Warrior raid.

He had just been about to apply the last drop of solder when Maddie gasped, followed by the sound of the alarms.

The blaring noise of the Compound's emergency ectoalarms came to life, startling Tucker so he dropped his soldering gun into a mesh of wires. Instead he ran to the Fentons, terrified, with his hands clamped over his ears. The alarm was deafening, bright lights flashing as a computerized voice began reciting a mantra of precautions over the intercom.

"What's going on?" Tucker exclaimed, shoving his glasses up the bridge of his nose and over worried eyes.

Maddie was moving her hands across the screen, frantic. "We lost our connection with the probe!" she shouted over the alarm. "Something's happened!"

Tucker was horrified. "What do you mean? Is Sam okay?"

Maddie didn't respond. Instead, she continued to flip through tabs of information, error message after error message complaining due to the lack of connectivity. She backtracked, reinstating the information before the connection was terminated. Then she gasped, her hands clamped over her mouth as she looked to her husband in horror. Jack's hands gripped her shoulders, tightening as he saw what she was looking at.

Tucker's heart palpitated, a stabbing sensation that rendered him breathless. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. He, too, was shaking his head. Something was horribly wrong. "What is it?" he demanded.

Maddie was shaking. "They were ambushed." Her eyes lingered on the screen of the supercomputer, the words blurred by tears.

Steeling himself, Tucker took shaky steps towards the computer, ignoring the sounds of the emanating alarms. He made it to Jack and Maddie, looking between them for the briefest of moments before he let out a strangled cry of dismay.

While Wasteland ghosts were powerful, these ghosts were average in class, all of them variations of fives and sixes. It was the numbers in which they attacked, however, that was unprecedented. Spooks such as these did not attack as a horde, listless in their formation and rambling. The readings depicted their numbers in hundreds.

"What . . .?" Tucker had to swallow the lump in his throat. "What does that mean?"

"It means something's changed," Jack said. His crystal blue eyes were shadowed by the heavy furrow of his brows.

Maddie nodded in agreement. "This isn't normal." She was swiping tears away from her eyes as if they burned. "This isn't normal . . . I—I would know—I—"

Jack silenced her with a forceful shake to her shoulders. "Madds, _stop_."

"Oh god, Jack, what if—what if they didn't . . . Sam—"

"_Maddie_," Jack said again. Tucker could see the telltale iridescent trail of tears at his cheeks, too. Maddie was shuddering in her attempt to contain her sobs as she clutched at her husband's chest.

Tucker didn't know what to do. He stood there, useless, watching as the Fentons fell apart.

"I can't lose another one!" Maddie wailed, her voice cracking and hoarse.

"I know, Madds, I know," Jack murmured into her hair. Then he was rocking her with his face scrunched, the large bulk of his arms nearly concealing her.

Watching them, it struck Tucker how deeply the Fenton duo cared for him and Sam, and it was this sudden influx of information that had him choking and coughing back his own anxiety. He wiped the tears from his cheeks and began staring at the screen of the supercomputer, hoping against hope that the probe would spontaneously reinstate itself and with it the affirmation of Sam's safety.

It never did.

Instead, they waited four hours full of acid tears and bated breath, of white knuckled hands clenched together in hope, before any news regarding the fate of the lost Warriors was acknowledged. Tucker had been sitting in the lab with his hands tweaking the frames of his glasses. He watched as Maddie sat huddled with the framed picture of her deceased children clutched at her chest. Jack had his arm around her, combing a consoling hand through her hair. Jazz, the only remaining Fenton child, had joined them hours ago during the resounding of the alarm, and was now sitting at Tucker's right, fiddling with the long braid of hair draped over her shoulder.

Everyone in the room jumped as the seal of the Resistance began blinking to life from the television embedded in the wall of the lab.

Damon Grey appeared on the screen. He stared into the camera, seemingly meeting the eyes of those watching him. His expression was pained, yet resolute as he began to speak. "As you are all aware," their leader began, "the Compound has been in mandatory lockdown due to a spectral ambush from the upper level. Seven of our Warriors were above ground at the time of the attack." There was an abrupt, painful silence as Grey cleared his throat. "We have a confirmation that there are survivors."

Tucker was suddenly holding his breath. Hoping, praying—anything to confirm Sam's safety. Jazz's fingers intertwined with his and she squeezed, hard.

"Seven of our Warriors ventured into the Wastelands in an attempt to release a patrol probe for scientific analysis, as well as obtain the necessary core energies from ghosts to power our facility." Grey's face darkened as shadows danced over the planes of his ropey white scars. In a grim voice he said, "Unfortunately, only five of our Warriors survived."

Tucker's face was ashen and he felt cold. _Please let Sam be okay. Please,_ he thought.

The camera shifted causing Tucker to blanch. Instead of Grey, they were now granted an image of the tattered survivors. Tucker's ears were ringing and his vision became speckled with white stars. Around him he heard gasping, startled exclamations, sobs—but none of it made sense to him.

He was counting them, over and over. Dale Barbara was clutching a shredded arm, Willie Shoemaker was coughing, a beaten up Dash Baxter was being supported by a pasty Kwan Sharigon, Valerie Grey was crying with patches of hair missing and angry red marks running up the length of her arm . . . but, no, this couldn't make sense. Where was Sam?

Five survivors. Five people on the screen.

"No," Tucker said. Then he screamed. "No!"

Damon Grey's voice began speaking again, but Tucker barely heard him. Survivors were being interviewed, respects for the deceased being paid as the group reflected on the two Warriors who had not made it home. His mind was lost, blank. His body was numb.

Sam wasn't among the survivors. The realization devastated him.

To his left, Maddie began to sob as a framed photo of two black-haired, blue-eyed children fell to the floor and shattered.

**XXX**

Sam woke with a jolt. A large gasp of air hissed through her teeth as she caught her breath. She started coughing, choking on the large amount of air that was rushing through her chest. Her hands were at her racing heart, a beat that throbbed so roughly it deafened her ears. She pushed herself into a sitting position, and as she did she noticed something odd. The pain that had once before accompanied the expansion of her lungs was nonexistent. Running a hand through her hair she noticed something else.

Her arm.

She looked at it in confusion. The large, swollen bulge that had protruded from the joint of her elbow was gone, as was the fracture of her wrist. Sam flexed her arm, amazed at the complete lack of pain as well as the returned usability. The absence of pain was jarring, and she was surprised by how great she felt. The only telltale sign of past injury was the slightest of aches that throbbed within her bones and muscles.

_What . . . the hell?_

"Glad to see you're awake."

Sam's eyes snapped upwards, meeting those of pure ectoplasm. He was alone, leaning casually on one of the icy pillars with his arms crossed. She attempted to glare and pulled the blanket from her cot firmly over her chest, even though she was still completely clothed. "What did you do to me?" she demanded.

Phantom's eyes narrowed. "_I _didn't do anything. Sleetjaw healed you."

"Healed me," she repeated. "Why?"

He sighed, pushing himself from the icy pillar. Walking towards her, he glared down at her with his strange glowing eyes, and said, "Look, I know it's hard for you to accept that us ghosts"—he sneered at the word—"actually want to help you. But these guys, the Yeti, have been very kind to you."

She arched an eyebrow in challenge. "Kind enough to kidnap me?"

"You're kidding right?"

"I remember very vividly when one of your _dogs_ had me at the throat," she snapped. "Did you forget about that?"

Phantom's face darkened. "That was a mistake. Icefang doesn't trust humans, not to mention that they all know who you are, anyway."

Sam frowned at that. She recalled her first encounter with Phantom, replaying his words: _"Sam Manson, Warrior extraordinaire," he'd said as he held her weapon. "You've made quite a name for yourself in the ghost zone."_ She shuddered, pulling the blanket tighter over her shoulders.

Phantom was speaking again. "It won't happen again. Icefang trusts my father, so even though he's scared of you he won't disobey a command." He smiled sheepishly. "Listen, I'm sorry about that. That wasn't exactly how we planned for things to go.

Sam refused to accept a ghost's apology and continued to glare at him. "Where the hell am I, anyway?" She demanded. He opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off. "And don't you give me the bullshit about being in the Far Frozen. I don't even know _what _that is."

"The Far Frozen is a part of the alternate realms, separate from the material world you're from. I think you humans call it the _Ghost Zone_."

_Ghost Zone?_

Sam felt her face grow pale before her anger and revulsion set in at full force. She lurched from the cot, newly healed muscles rejoicing with strength as she sent a clenched fist hurtling at Phantom's face.

It was pathetic, really, how easily he caught her hand and restrained her. She began struggling, growling in her attempt to free herself from his stronghold of a grasp. The frigid touch of his hands chilled her bare skin almost as much as her exposure to the air of the room.

"Let me go!" she shouted.

Phantom's hands seized her by the shoulders and shoved her to arm's length. "Would you stop that!" he exclaimed.

"Why the hell am I here?" Sam continued to yell. "Do you think I'm going to be some sort of pet? That you can keep me alive and teach me tricks? Well, screw you!"

"Is that really what you think? Didn't you hear anything my father said?" He was aghast. "Sam, they saved your life. You would have died, but Frostbreath had you in his arms when he found me. Sleetjaw healed you. You should be thankful you're alive!"

Sam freed herself from his chilly grasp and snagged the blanket form her cot. Once again cloaked within its warmth, she snapped, "What happened to Amity Park being part of your territory?"

Unrelenting, Phantom scowled at her. "Things changed," he replied evasively, and then stepped away from her with his head turned towards the entryway. After a brief moment of silence his fierce glare returned brighter that before. "Sleetjaw is on his way to check on you. He only wants to help." His eyes narrowed. "Be nice."

Sam sneered back at him and stuck out her tongue, just as the aforementioned bulk of Sleetjaw entered the room. She couldn't contain her curiosity upon seeing him, surprised to see the wide smile that graced the beast's muzzle.

"Human girl!" he exclaimed. "I am glad to see you are feeling better. I trust you slept well?"

Sam glanced at Phantom, whose eyes glimmered with a warning untold from behind the Yeti's back. Sighing heavily, Sam met the ghost's ruby gaze. "I—yes, I feel much better." The words that came next were bitter. "Thank you."

Sleetjaw's fangs glinted as he smiled again. "You are quite welcome." The ghost extended his large clawed hand towards her, curious and questioning. "May I take your hand, human girl? Healing you was not the easiest task, and I would like to make sure everything in your system is as it should be."

Sam's fingers twitched. Initially, she was repulsed by the thought of a ghost touching her, but her curiosity was piqued and beginning to overcome the better part of her judgment. She hesitated, looking over the Yeti's shoulder to glare at Phantom, and then placed her hand in the Yeti's. The feeling of the ghost's hand around hers was strange, cold as it was soft. Her arm shook as she resisted the urge rip it away from his grasp.

She watched in absolute amazement as a faint blue glow began emanating from the ghost's palm. The energy was cold, undulating in the form of thousands of icy ringlets, and tingles began erupting along her arm, traveling up into her chest where her heart leapt once in response. Sam gasped at the sensation, nearly tearing her hand away but somehow compelled to remain still. Just as sudden as it came though, the sensation vanished as the ghost pulled away.

"I am happy to say you are fully healed, human," Sleetjaw said.

Sam didn't know what to say and smiled uncertainly, rubbing the arm where the ghost had touched her. She was saved from the awkward situation, however, when another figure appeared at the entryway.

"Oh hello, Elle," Sleetjaw called in greeting, turning to offer the white-haired ghost a smile of welcome. "Is there something you need?"

The female ghost named Elle remained frozen at the entryway. She stood there, in silent conflict with herself, before she finally shook her head and stepped resolutely into the room. Her glaring green gaze flitted over Sam before turning to Phantom. "Dad wants us to all meet in the dining hall, and he wants you to bring the _human_." Without looking at Sam, Elle gestured in her direction. She then looked at Sleetjaw. "He wants you to come too. Apparently, it's important."

Phantom nodded once. "I'll meet you guys there, but whether or not she comes isn't my decision."

Sam frowned, annoyed that they were talking about her as if she wasn't even there. She crossed her arms over her chest and drawled under her breath to herself, "_I'm right here."_ All three ghostly sets of eyes unexpectedly fixated on her. She blanched under their sudden gazes. It was then she recalled Maddie once saying that ghosts had elevated hearing, along with other senses. _Oops._

Elle's eyes narrowed at her before she turned again towards Phantom. "I'll see you there, Danny."

Phantom nodded once, watching her disappear with Sleetjaw into the icy corridor. Once they were alone again, he faced Sam and sighed. "You've got to be hungry."

Sam snorted. "I'm sure whatever it is that ghosts eat isn't exactly on my list of edible foods." Then her brow knitted in confusion. "Since when do ghosts eat in the first place?" She was once again reflecting upon Maddie's lectures from the Compound, about the physiological eccentrics coupled with anatomical impossibilities. Ghosts didn't—couldn't—eat, as they were not comprised of the essential organs and intestinal tract to do so.

Phantom was glaring at her again, unamused. "Your lack of knowledge is astounding," he snapped. He sidestepped away from her and stalked towards the entryway where a bundle of fabric lied atop a mass of ice protruding from the wall. Seizing it, he returned to her and tossed the bundle into her direction.

Sam caught it, confused. "What is it?"

"Clothes."

Clothes? Sam's eyes narrowed as she straightened the fabric. It was a whitish jacket, long at the sides so when she pulled it over her head it fell below her knees, but fit her arms well. It seemed to be made out of the strange heavyweight material of her blanket, perfectly containing her body heat and warming her up considerably. Old habits rekindled themselves, and before she could stop herself, she asked, "Does this come in black?"

Phantom stared at her, cocking his head to the side as his eyes appraised her. Sam almost slapped herself as she started to blush. "Your boots are under your cot," he said, ignoring her question.

Grateful for a chance to look away from him, she clambered underneath the cot for her combat boots and pulled them over her frozen feet. When she was done, she looked up to see Phantom standing by the entryway, gesturing out into the corridor.

"So, you up for dinner with a bunch of spirits ready to rip you apart?" he said, smiling.

Sam almost had to do a double take at how . . . dorky it was. She frowned at him. "Do I have choice?"

"Of course you do," he stated. "But if you don't come you _might _starve."

She was tempted to take her chances with starvation. But then, she couldn't deny her curiosity. These ghosts were puzzling, so unlike anything she had ever seen before. They didn't seem to mean her any harm, and although mistrust still danced within her gut, she found herself overcome with an intense bout of excitement. She almost hated herself more than she did for showing weakness, because she _shouldn't _be feeling this way. Her excitement was somehow stronger now than it was when she took her first tentative steps out into the Wastelands. It was completely unethical.

So what the hell, why not?

For the first time since waking up in the Far Frozen, Sam genuinely smiled. "Lead the way."

* * *

_A/N: Wow, this chapter was a bear. The struggle was real with this one! Anyway, hope you guys liked it though! I'm sorry it took so long. The real world is such a bitch, haha, not to mention I now have a beta reader for this story! Yay! Big thanks to **Fiddlehoffer**, for your perseverance with this chapter. It was greatly appreciated!_

_Also, big shout out to_ **CaptainOzone**_ for allowing me to use the character Sleetjaw. If you haven't already, be sure to check out the amazing story,_ Shift! _I promise you won't regret it!_

_Lastly, in regards to the question posed by_ **Blazercjj101**_, I am going to respond here because PMs are disabled on your account. No, I did not base Kwan's surname from Naruto. I've honestly never seen the show, and literally just used what came to mind in a spur of the moment, haha. Sorry if that disappoints you!_

_Thanks for everything guys! Please don't forget to leave me a review! I love hearing your comments, as well as your suggestions for what you'd like to see in upcoming chapters! I'm not getting much of a response anymore, so I don't even know if anyone's reading this story. While I don't necessarily write for the feedback, I can just as easily write the story and keep it to myself because that's what it's beginning to feel like anyway. I haven't done something wrong, have I? _

_-Roarri_


	7. Of Ice and Fire

**WARNING – WARNING –WARNING**

**CHAPTER COUNT HAS CHANGED! ****THIS IS THE CURRENT **NEW** CHAPTER!**

**PLEASE READ: Hey, everyone! Long time no see! A more detailed A/N will be at the end as usual. Just wanted to point out that I did update a lot of the older chapters and combined them. I will probably be continuing to update and revise, so be sure to keep tabs. Proceed now to the chapter, but please be sure to read the last A/N as well! Thanks!**

* * *

**Epíphantos**

**Chapter Seven:**

_**Of Ice and Fire**_

* * *

The winding columns of the hallways intertwined stone and ice in a way that had Sam staring, mouth agape, as she followed Phantom through the frozen abode. The crippling fear and anger she'd felt since waking up in the Ghost Zone was miniscule, at least for the moment. She trudged behind Phantom, ducking her chin into the cozy neckline of her furry coat.

Considering her situation, she supposed she should be feeling more apprehensive about sharing a room with a mob of ghosts, but her curiosity overrode her reason. Her nervousness was present though, in the jittery hunch of her shoulders and the hurriedness of her steps.

Phantom's stride was tense. He looked back at her over his shoulder occasionally, with his acid green eyes eyeing her warily. After the third time of him doing so, Sam finally snapped, "What?"

They rounded a corner and then walked under an archway of carved ice. He shook his head. "I don't understand how you're being so calm."

Sam arched an eyebrow. "Would you rather I continue being pissed?"

"No . . ." Phantom amended, though he seemed unsure.

"Okay then," Sam said, smiling a sickly sweet smile that she was sure seemed borderline psychotic. "Don't complain then."

The look he gave her then was one of incredulousness, accentuated by widened eyes and the shaking of his head. "You have got to be one of the strangest humans I have ever met."

"Oh, are there other humans here you've kidnapped to compare me to?" She couldn't help the glare that wormed its way through her façade. She was playing with fire, and she knew it. With nothing to protect herself with, Phantom could easily obliterate her with a single ectoplasmic charge from his palm, but—for some reason unfathomable to her—continued to refrain himself.

To his credit though, the ghost _was _pretty pissed. Green eyes simmered behind his messy white hair. They slipped under another archway, this one leading into a large opening in the cave where the passageways began to web themselves in every direction. The ceiling rose higher than it did anywhere else, carved into a dome where light centered itself. Icy snakes wound their way up the walls, enhancing the strange glow.

Sam's brow scrunched in concentration as she took in every detail. If the ghosts followed their word—a feat Sam wouldn't hold her breath to—she figured she would at least be alive long enough to begin pinpointing an escape out of this frozen maze. What concerned her though was what existed beyond the ice and masonry. So far, the Ghost Zone was nothing like the world she'd often dreamt about. Where were the swirling green pits of hell? Where were the flesh eating monsters that hid behind floating doors?

This . . . was nothing like what she'd imagined. She found herself eyeing the rainbows that cascaded like small rivers of color along the floors, dancing as she walked as the refraction of light changed with her movement. She never thought she'd associate the word _beauty _with the word _ghosts _before, but there was just no denying the absolute splendor of the caves and tunnels Phantom led her through. Everywhere they walked was a work of art.

Distracted, Sam almost walked right into the ghost when he abruptly stopped in front of her. She looked up from the floor and nearly tumbled backwards, realizing how close they were to each other. After a quick step away from him, she narrowed her eyes. "Jeez, could you warn me the next time you're going to stop like that?" she snapped.

Phantom rolled his eyes. "We're here."

It was then that Sam noticed they were standing near one of the archways. It didn't lead directly into a room, but instead another hallway. This one, to her surprise, was more stone than ice, and instead of the strange emanating light she'd seen so far, torches lined the walls. She became entranced by the flickering tongues of orange light, shocked by the presence of _real _fire. At the end of the hallway a brighter light shone, warm and inviting.

"There are a few things you should probably know," Phantom said after a moment of silence.

When he didn't continue, Sam frowned and arched an eyebrow. "Okay . . .?"

Finding his words, Phantom took a moment to shift from one foot to the other. "The Yeti are peaceful, and won't fight unless it's in self-defense. No one will hurt you."

Sam scoffed. "So I take it choking someone around the neck is a ghost's definition of _peaceful_?" she said a bit too harshly. _Easy, Manson. _

He winced. "Icefang was just trying to protect us from you. Humans aren't exactly his favorite."

"Well _ghosts _aren't exactly favorites of the humans either," Sam spat with her hands on her hips.

"That's another thing. Whatever you do, _don't _call them ghosts."

_What_? Sam was brought up short, unsure on how to respond. What did _that _mean?

Phantom must have noticed her confusion. "There are a lot of things you don't know, and I'm sure my father will explain some of it to you tonight," he said, vague as always. "But please, for the sake of my sanity, _behave_."

She was about to retort, but he cut her off. "One last thing. I warn you now that when it comes to guests, the Yeti tend to get a bit . . . _extreme_."

**XXX**

If she could, Sam very much wanted to make a snide remark to Phantom about how much of an understatement "extreme" was. She would, too, if she weren't currently under the fierce scrutiny of a room full of enormous, furry ghosts with red eyes and teeth that were barely contained by their massive muzzles. She did glare at him though, with her eyebrows low over her eyes and her jaw firmly set. His response was an innocent and somewhat sheepish grin that he gave her from across the stone table, followed by an offhand shrug that screamed: _"Told you so."_

Sam resisted the urge to sigh. The whole situation was absurd!

After he led her through the stony, fire-lit hallway she had begun to hear voices. They amplified upon reaching an equally stony room, but hushed as she entered. And then there, sitting sparsely around a table at the center of the room, were the spooks from her earlier encounter. Every one of them. They had at first stared at her with wide eyes, frozen in a state of shock at her presence. Phantom had discreetly placed a hand at her elbow then, beginning to guide her until she sat in a chair between Sleetjaw and Frostbreath, and then took his own seat.

Torches around the room were lit, but the main source of light was a chandelier of ice suspended at the domed center of the ceiling. From here, Sam noticed the source of light was actually a sphere of blue energy that undulated from within, so bright that it hurt her eyes to look at. There was an intense bout of silence as the beasts watched her with unwavering eyes. It was almost as if they were waiting for her to sprout a second head, or something equally disturbing. Sam's eyes flickered over each of them, twiddling her fingers and uncomfortable in the steady silence.

To her far left and at the head of the table, Frostbite broke the silence by booming: "Welcome! I am glad you decided to join us, human!" he gestured grandiosely with a large arm over the table. "Please, eat. I am not sure what a human diet consists of, so I made sure to have our servers prepare a variety of different selections for you to choose from!"

Finally noticing the food, Sam took a moment to look around at the many colorful trays and cups adorning the table, all of them made out of stone or ice. They were full of unidentifiable fruits, meats, and other odd-looking edibles that she had never seen before, and all were lavish in their presentation. Shiny slabs of stone were before each of the room's inhabitants, she included, with strange utensils laid out on either side. She eyed what looked to be a purple apple the size of her head, and frowned at it.

Frostbite was watching her, smiling a wide smile that revealed every one of his fangs. It then became clear to her that he was waiting for her to make a selection.

_Extreme, my ass. _

This was when Sam began glaring at Phantom, to which he shrugged. What was she supposed to do? It was as if they orchestrated the feast in her honor, but she had no idea what anything was or if it was even safe for her consumption. A dark thought suddenly occurred to her that maybe everything _was _poisonous, but then that wouldn't make sense either. They had ample time to kill her already, so why would they expend the unnecessary energy to do so now?

The silence dragged on, so Sam grabbed the safest thing she could think of, and that was a bowl of greens that was within arm's reach. She seized it, fumbling slightly at the bulk, before snatching some of the enormous leaves and placing them on her plate. There were a few more seconds of uncertainty as she debated whether or not to coat them in one of the colorful liquids she saw within some of the ice cups, but ended up deciding against it. Taking a deep breath, she picked up one of the leaves and took her first tentative bite.

_Crunch!_

The sound of the leaf between her teeth was so loud that every one of the spooks jumped at its suddenness. But Sam didn't care. While the taste wasn't exactly that of Compound lettuce, it was also so much better. She nearly moaned at the taste, much to her embarrassment, and quickly engulfed the entire leaf. Somewhere in her mind her consciousness niggled at her, reminding her to remain cautious and to _not _eat food given to her by ghosts, but for the first time in her life, she ignored it.

The tension lifted as Frostbite roared with laughter. He slammed one of his fists onto the table as he was overcome with his mirth, causing trays and cups to leap and spill. "Our guest has taken the first of bites," he said, addressing the other ghosts. "Now let the feast begin!"

_So much for ghosts not being able to eat, _Sam thought to herself as she watched them dive ruthlessly into the food. Where did it all come from, anyway? She found herself cringing as Frostbreath reached from her left and grabbed a large pinkish slab of meat, plopped it onto his tray, and began carving it with one of the knife-like utensils. Sleetjaw's selection was less disturbing when he reached for one of the purple apples; it crunched loudly as he took a bite of it. Across the table, Phantom and Elle were too busy arguing quietly with each other to pay attention to the food, despite Frostbite's multiple attempts to hush them. Icefang also wasn't eating, and instead maintained a steady glare at Sam, rapping his claws on the table.

To Sam, the whole situation was so utterly _bizarre _that she had trouble swallowing the lump of mulch in her throat, too consumed by her amazement. She ended up choking on her food and forced herself to cough it free, only for it to spew unceremoniously from her mouth and all over her tray. She continued to cough for few moments afterwards, so hard that tears sprung from her eyes. In a moment of uncalculated desperation, she reached for the nearest liquid to clear her throat, but what she grabbed tasted like_ bile_ and she immediately spat it back into the cup, nearly retching from the taste of it.

_Well, _she thought as she wiped her chin, _at least I'm not choking anymore. _

She wasn't choking, but when Sam's eyes lifted upwards, she was once again under the steady gazes of her dinner party. Red tinted her cheeks as each and every one of their gazes conveyed variations of disgust, with some of their expressions even locked in a sort of sickened horror. Mortified, she pushed away her cup of bile-juice and began the process of wiping leafy spew from her coat.

Shaking his head at her from across the table, Icefang muttered, "Humans are _barbaric."_

"That was _the _most disgusting thing I have ever seen," Elle said. She was also shaking her head, and pushed away her still-empty tray. "Goodbye, appetite."

Frostbite was fascinated. "Is this a typical dining habit of your kind?"

The redness of Sam's cheeks deepened. "Uh, no . . ."

Frostbite's brow furrowed in confusion. He tilted his head sideways, and then asked, "Then why did you rinse your mouth with fish oil?"

She blanched. _What? What did he say? _Fish _oil? _She was coughing again, wiping her tongue with the sleeve of her jacket. Sleetjaw shuffled over to her a cup of ice water and she downed it, almost inhaling it in her quest to rid her tongue of the taste.

"Everything alright?" Frostbreath asked with a worried frown.

Sam shook her head, and then reached for one of the purple apples. "I don't eat meat." She wrinkled her nose at the thought; at the utter invasion of _fish _oil having touched her lips and tongue. It was _disgusting_. "Or any sort of animal byproduct. Nothing that ever had a face." Why was she telling them this? They weren't likely to understand any of it.

"Are all humans this way?" Frostbite asked.

"No," Sam said after a pause. "I'm a vegan, and the only one that I know of."

"Vegan," Frostbite repeated in amazement, his eyes wide and his expression riveted. "What do they call you, human girl?"

Sam didn't respond immediately. Her first inclination was to lie, to not tell them her name out of defiance. But then her eyes drifted astray, only momentarily, and met Phantom's questioning gaze. He arched an eyebrow, and somehow she knew he was waiting to see what she would do. It occurred to Sam that they _knew _her name. They were testing her, wondering what name she would tell them. After only a moment of hesitation, Sam decided she would play their game.

Holding her chin high, she looked Frostbite in the eye. "Sam," she told him. Not Samantha, or Sam Manson, but _Sam. _

"_Sam._" A slow grin arced at the length of Frostbite's gigantic muzzle. It was odd to hear her name roll off his tongue with as much familiarity as Tucker would speak to her; and it was unsettling, to say the least. "Sam of the Very Vegan, destroyer of ghosts." A low rumble erupted from his chest as he chuckled to himself.

Sam felt her pulse quicken. What did he mean by _"Destroyer of Ghosts?" _Did she really have such a reputation, or were these words that were passed on from Phantom? And the most puzzling of all, why did this not seem to alarm him, or any of them for the matter? Sure, Icefang and Elle were still looking at her frostily from the other side of the table, but aside from that, the rest of them were fascinated. But why? They were ghosts!

_Are they?_

Her confusion resurfaced as she mentally catalogued all she had learned from their behavior. They were strange creatures, and were nothing like the ravenous spooks she had encountered back in Amity. Everything she had ever known about ghosts had somehow been compromised during her time spent here in the Far Frozen. Was everything she'd learned over the years wrong? She couldn't help but ask the question as it bubbled up from the darkest, most unforgiving recesses of her mind: "Are _you_ a ghost?"

The room fell into a long, deathly silence. This time it was Icefang who broke it as he jumped to his feet, moving the table a couple inches in the process. He was leaning over it, snarling at her. "Have you no _respect_?!" he said, so loud that it was almost a yell. His large, yellowish fangs were bared at her, the hair on his body bristling.

"Peace, Icefang," Frostbite said while shooting the seething brute an authoritative glare. "We cannot condemn her for ignorance."

"_Ignorance_?" This time it was Elle's voice ringing shrilly throughout the room. She also soared to her feet, and began backing towards the entryway with her hands balled into fists. "She's _human_."

"Elle . . ." Frostbite warned darkly.

"No, father," she hissed. "I'm trying. I'm _trying_, okay? But—this—I can't. This is _wrong." _She glared pointedly at Sam, a fire igniting in the depths of her emerald eyes before she spun away, disappearing into the corridor.

Phantom rose to follow her, but Frostbite stilled him with a large hand to the shoulder. "Let her go," Frostbite told him. "She needs to calm and find peace, which cannot be done unless she is alone."

Conflicting emotions flickered across Phantom's face. His mouth was pressed into a hard line, and he looked for moment as if he would pursue Elle anyway, but instead decided to heed Frostbite's words and fell to his seat with a huff. Slumped indignantly, he began pushing a small portion of food across his plate, glaring daggers at it as he did so. Sam realized she was staring as he abruptly looked up at her with raised eyebrows. She let out an awkward cough and tore her gaze away.

Ever the attentive host, Frostbite began apologizing. "I am sorry for my daughter. Humans were a cause of great pain for her in the past." His red eyes simmered with compassion as he shook his head. "A past she has yet to overcome, unfortunately."

"A shame it is," Frostbreath murmured in agreement, and just as Sam was about to question the past events that they were referring to, he quickly added, "I believe you have a question to answer for Sam?"

"Ah, yes!" Frostbite said a little too loudly. "You wanted to know if I was a ghost, correct?"

_That was strange, _Sam thought, narrowing her eyes. So Elle's past wasn't up for discussion? She filed away a mental note to somehow ask Phantom about it later. If she was even still alive later. She had no way of knowing how long they would continue to keep her alive, regardless of how friendly they currently seemed. She took a deep breath to calm any anxious nerves threatening to betray her cool resolve, and then nodded.

"Frostbite . . ." Icefang warned, growling as he allowed a scowl to flit between Frostbite and Sam. "Remember _what_ you are talking to. _Giving our_ _secrets to_."

Frostbite waved off his warning with a flourish of his gargantuan hand. "I understand your concern, Icefang, but for relations to be established between our kind and the humans, it is imperative that we first begin building our foundation." When he spoke, his eyes remained on Sam's. With one of his great hands he reached for a knife and began twirling it delicately. "Sam just may be our bridge, and I have come to realize that she will not trust us until we are completely honest with her."

Sam's couldn't contain the sudden onset of her nerves, unable to tear her gaze away from the great beast before her, and the knife at his clawed fingertips. She was reeling and unsure, no longer within the gravitational pull of her universe, and suddenly propelled into a world where she could not find solid ground. She was terrified of what he was going to say, aware that the very balance of her universe was now on the ledge of a revelation. Despite everything—all the years of war and capturing subjects for study—Sam was coming to the painful realization that the human race barely knew a thing.

As if reading her thoughts, the knife in Frostbite's hand stilled. With an unceasing gaze that barely registered the continuation of Icefang's vehement protests, Frostbite, exploiting a quickness that Sam didn't think possible for a beast of his size, dragged the serrated edge of the knife over his palm, deep enough to bleed. Congealing in blots, the stuff leaked from his palm and trailed down into the fur of his wrist, staining the whiteness of it.

Not green, but a deep, dark purple that discolored his fur almost pink.

Her carefully constructed world came to an earth-shattering standstill as Frostbite calmly told her: "The Yeti are _not _ghosts."

**XXX**

In an alternate dimension and underneath a mile of dirt and rock, Valerie Gray was angrily releasing the bounds of her anger. The rubber dummy ghost flexed underneath her punches, its horrid yellow eyes glaring at her as it merrily wobbled back and forth, grinning at the salty tears that brimmed at her eyes. She punched with as much force as she could muster, attempting in vain to push away the darkness of the present and the thoughts than swam along with it.

Valerie was _bawling. _

She never cried. Not like this. Sobs heaved from her chest as she jumped and punched, not even bothered by the singed wisps of burnt hair that were matted to her forehead with sweat. She ignored the pain that shot up her arm as raw and marred flesh made forceful contact with the rubber dummy. She didn't care. She couldn't care. Her capacity for caring was overrun with the memories of losing Sam and Dick Belair in the Wasteland raid two days ago.

Her tears brimmed and fell, and she tasted the poison of them in her mouth as her punches came harder. Sam's death had been the hardest for her. Valerie had be so _close_, having only missed Sam's outstretched hand by mere inches, right before her former best friend had been lifted into the air and carried off and probably devoured by a horde of soul eating, spectral monsters. Their group had gone looking for her, but then Belair's old heart had chosen in that precise moment to give up on him, and before she knew it, they were dragging his stiffening body back towards the Compound.

The _funeral_ was tomorrow.

Valerie collapsed onto the ground, hugging her knees to her chest as she wailed. Despite their recent animosity towards each other, Valerie _did_ care. She and Sam had been friends for years before the Compound went underground, attracted by the unanimous quest to become recognized Warriors. The rift that formed between them had been a result of Vlad Masters, when Sam didn't share Valerie's unquestionable devotion to him.

She didn't understand why things went so wrong. Everything had been correlated and quantified, spectral energy pinpointed into a pattern weak enough to enable travel. The readings had been accurate until now, so what changed? Why didn't they see that ambush coming beforehand?

Valerie's hands became fists in her lap. She hadn't been strong enough to save Sam, and because of her weakness, Sam paid with her life. With that thought now in the forefront of her mind, another sob ripped painfully through her chest and screamed from her throat. Her hands flew to her hair and pulled, causing the dark ringlets to crumble and free themselves in massive clumps. The image of the once beautiful and deadly Valerie Gray shattered, falling in pieces to the floor and landing amongst the clumps of her hair.

She was so immersed in the depths of her sorrow that she didn't even notice when Vlad came upon her. She only noticed when a cold hand was at her chin, forcing her watery eyes to meet his as he knelt before her.

"Oh Valerie, my dear," he murmured in his silky voice, bringing his hand higher to caress her cheek and effectively clearing it of her tears. "What am I going to do with you?"

Despite everything, Valerie smiled, leaning her face into his hand. Vlad would always be there for her. Since the death of her mother, he was the only person she knew she could trust that wasn't her father. Vlad would make things right, as he always did, and she would follow his lead with an unquestioning devoutness. Though her eyes still brimmed with residual tears, Valerie felt the shattered pieces of her person reassemble themselves into something new.

Her face hardened, and she set her jaw as her gaze became resolute. Vlad had always told her that the best of Warriors must first be hardened by circumstance, their armor forged by the fiery hot embers of failure and loss. She knew, just by the look in his eyes, what thoughts were snaking his mouth into a smirk. His chilly touch was continuous on her cheek, stroking the soft skin in careful ministrations. All the while the smile of a shark twisted at his mouth, his eyes glinted deviously under the florescent lighting of the training faction's overhead lights.

Sam died as a martyr, and as much as Valerie continued to grieve for her fallen friend and comrade, the knowing smile that curved at her lips was one of calculation and understanding. Now that Sam was gone, Vlad could focus his time and energy into training _her_, molding her with his image, so when the time came, Valerie would rise to the rank of Warrior Leader with an iron first as stringent as her father's. Sam would become the fuel to her fire, and then together she and Vlad would work to end this god forsaken war.

But what Valerie could not have seen in her calculations, too blinded by the throes of devotion and grief, were the ulterior motives darkening at the edges of Vlad's twisted smile.

**XXX**

The crackling and hissing of the fire from the stone hearth was calming, tongues of warmth lapping over exposed forearms as Danny slouched in his chair. Across from him was his hulking father, and visible trails of condensed air wafted in swirls about Frostbite's muzzle as he sighed heavily. The pair were quiet, comforted by the silence of each other's presence. The stifling tension from dinner had long since passed hours ago, after Danny had unceremoniously deposited Sam into her room, sealing the entryway with a layer of ice.

It had been for her protection. At least that's what he told her, right before she cussed him out with a flippant gesture from her hand that he didn't understand. Danny couldn't help but grin as he thought back on the dinner's discussion, when his father had revealed to her one of the many secrets of his foster kin, and how skepticism had clouded her eyes. She had paled, but refused to let her confusion show through her impassive mask. Thankfully, his father had refused from answering her following questions, promising she would learn more with time.

"Something funny, son?" Frostbite asked as he noticed Danny's expression.

Danny's grin turned into a short laugh and he shook his head. He leaned back further into his chair, sighing at the warmth of the fire on his skin. Back in Amity, he was constantly moving, shifting back and forth between the dilapidated human world and the Middle, where most of the insubstantial ghosts lurked. It had been a good way to remain undetected, at least until his fateful encounter with Sam and a Fenton invention that literally _ripped _him through the seam and into physical existence.

Shuddering, Danny flicked off an ember that had landed on his arm. Even the memory was jarring. The Middle, as it was so eloquently called by his kin, was an area of space and time where the very edges of the material and alternate worlds overlapped, just enough, so ghosts could exist in tandem with the humans, but without actually _existing_. Danny was one of the few ghosts that could shift between the two states. Being forcibly removed had been excruciating, and utterly terrifying, but had also been the catalyst for his meeting with the lavender-eyed girl called Sam.

She was a force to be reckoned with, Sam Manson, with her brazen words and sharp intellect that constantly left him reeling. Considering what she was, they should be mortal enemies. But then, Danny couldn't deny his ever-present curiosity. He'd known who she was long before their physical meeting, as he'd watched her on the many occasions she'd venture from the security of the underground pit, amble across town, just to sit in the park, smile, and relish the freedom accompanied by the open air she breathed.

Danny would have never believed in a million years that he'd make contact with her for a second time. The first had been sheer luck on her part. But now? Danny bit his lip and shook his head, suppressing his incredulity. Now, she was in his home in the Far Frozen with her simmering anger that always seemed to boil when he was in her presence. Funny how things like that happen.

Footsteps from the outside corridor snapped Danny from his reverie. He and Frostbite turned in unison, just in time to see her as she padded hesitantly into the room, her shoulders hunched and her eyes downcast. She flopped into the empty chair beside Danny, running her fingers through her long white hair.

Frostbite smiled warmly at his daughter. "Feeling better, Ellie?"

Elle's smile was wry as she met Frostbite's eye. "Wonderful, just wonderful," she muttered. Her hands drifted from the hair at her shoulder to her throat, where she fingered the puckered edge of a scar that peeked out from the neckline of her shirt. Then her arms crossed to form a barrier over her chest. "Sorry about . . . dinner."

"It's alright," Frostbite replied. Her reached forward and pushed a fall of hair away from her eyes. "I should have known it would upset you."

Elle didn't have a response for him. Instead, her eyes met Danny's. "So, Danny, you ready to kick some butt now that you're back?"

Danny's brow furrowed. "How bad has it been?"

Elle snorted, just as Frostbite said, "The raids are becoming more constant." The firelight reflected in the deep red irises of his eyes, flickering over the ominous expression dominating his face. "The damage to the town is only minimal, but with Elle by herself we've barely been able to keep the ghosts at bay."

"I do fine on my own!" Elle snapped. "I just . . . could use the help."

Frostbite sent a dark look at her. "Your sister has yet to learn the limits of condition," he said in a low growl, frowning at the defiant look she shot at him in response. "The past few raids have been close. Too close. I fear what this pattern signifies."

Danny nodded, his eyes drifting back to the curling orange flames. Raids had been intermittent before he left for the material world, and Elle had proven herself more than capable as a defender, despite her degenerative condition. Too much ectoplasmic power utilized in a small amount of time was detrimental to her, but she was still strong enough for most forms of combat. Elle's fighting style was mostly physical, anyway. Even still, if things were truly becoming more severe, Danny was glad he was around to help her now.

Elle was watching his expression curiously. Her white eyebrows were arched high over her eyes. "What was it like?" she asked suddenly with a hushed, secretive voice. When Danny frowned at her in confusion, she quickly amended, "The human realm. What . . . what was it like? What are _they _like?"

"Quiet," Danny responded honestly. He began describing to her his experience over the past few years. Humans were infrequent, buried beneath the ground. Aggressive ghosts remained out of his territory, while the others were led safely through the Middle to natural portals bordering Amity Park. The Infi-Map had guided him in his quest of leading the war-torn, homeless spirits and benevolent ghosts to safety as Pariah Dark's army continued to destroy their home realms.

Throughout the tale, Elle's eyes became as wide as saucers and she tucked her knees to her chest, resting her chin on them in a childlike wonder. Frostbite remained silent and grim, though his eyes sparkled with fondness as he regarded his adopted children. Danny told them everything he had learned about the realm, which surprisingly wasn't much. Sam was the only human he'd made contact with, while other instances had remained purely visual. The rest of his time had been quiet, aside from the refugees he'd guided through natural portals to the Far Frozen.

While he talked, he carefully left out the absolute brutality he'd witnessed from the humans. The devastation he'd observed in the beginning, before he established his territory, when the city had yet to be completely evacuated. At the brink of their extinction, the humans had been cruel, both to the ghosts and each other. How many benevolent ghosts had he not been able to save because of "Warriors" and their need to capture and destroy? Granted, most ghosts were under the control of Pariah Dark, but the aftertaste of their dismemberment was still bitter in his mouth. Danny shuddered. These were things he would tell his father when Elle was not around, so for now he told his revised version.

What he refused to tell either of them was the crippling loneliness and fear he'd felt during his two years in Amity, with the highlight of his time being spent watching the murderous Warrior girl as she travelled alone through the city. They would never know how he'd made sure to protect her in her travels, sensing the safety emanating from her aura, even though she was one of _them_. Neither of them needed to dwell on his discomfort, nor did they need to know his fondness for the human, so he would keep it all to himself.

With the conclusion of his amended tale, Frostbite met Danny's eye. "And what state is the material world in now?"

Danny's mouth opened to respond, but instead he could only shake his head. His father's expression darkened and he turned, working his massive jaw so canines flashed in the firelight. Silence fell once more over the small room, pregnant with tension and grim thoughts.

Frostbite reached forward to stoke the fire, his expression now thoughtful. "I think the human girl is the key," he said, and both Danny and Elle looked at him with furrowed brows and obvious skepticism, causing the great beast to sigh.

"She's _human_, dad." Elle's nose wrinkled as if she smelled something unpleasant. "Humans are too primitive to understand anything outside their realm. Not to mention they're _so _stupid. She didn't even have table manners, for King's sake!"

Danny shot a glare at Elle. "She's not _that _bad."

"I beg to differ!"

"Alright, enough!" Frostbite snapped, exasperated. "Humans are a young race, but that does not mean they are anything less than what we are. We cannot win this war alone. With Sam on our side, she may be able to rally her kin in our favor."

"She hates us, even though she knows nothing about us. Not to mention she's a _killer!_" Elle leaned forward in emphasis, her eyes blazing brighter than the orange flames. "Nothing can change that!"

Frostbite's eyes narrowed. "She is ignorant. If she is truly what you say she is, she would not have let your uncle live." When he saw that his daughter had no argument for that, his gaze softened. "I believe that with time she may come to trust us, but first we must begin by trusting her. We cannot blame her or any of the humans for their ignorance. They only believe what they see in their world, and right now their world is on its path to destruction due to Dark's army and plagued by his ghosts."

"_Whatever_," Elle grumbled, burying her face into her knees. "Just keep her the hell away from me."

Unable to contain himself, Danny chuckled at her, and when a green eye peeked over her knee to glare at him, he only laughed harder. His sister was many things, and childish was definitely one of them. It was sometimes hard for him to comprehend how lethal she truly was, especially with the way she acted when not faced with prying eyes. But then, he could say the same for himself. As Frostbite's children, both of them had been raised to wield several masks. Outside their home, they were the dignified destined rulers, unblinking and stoic—Daniel and Danielle. In Amity, Danny had been Phantom, ruthless and superior.

But here, in the small room with three chairs and a fireplace, they were Danny and Elle, the laughing, mischievous twins with green eyes and white hair.

**XXX**

Frostbite's smile was warm while he continued to watch his children quip playfully with each other. He couldn't help but laugh when Elle, fed up by her brother's antics, leapt from her chair and punched Danny hard in the gut. They began to grapple with each other, spitting insults and other various threats until they too succumbed to fits of pealing laughter, happy to have their small family reunited once again after nearly two years of separation.

Looking away from them to stare once more at the fire, his gleeful expression began to drift into thoughtfulness once again. He began mulling over the upcoming gathering he would have to hold for his tribe and all the tension and excitement it would cause the villagers. Danny's return coupled with the arrival of the human girl, Sam, was bound to be interesting. Perhaps even revolutionary.

Frostbite grinned.

Tomorrow, the fun would start.

* * *

_A/N: Wow, SO, SO SORRY FOR THE LATE UPDATE. To be honest, this is the unedited version of this chapter. I felt bad for how long it took to write, so I am uploading it now and will probably update it when my beta sends it back. I don't know what happened or when the revised chapter will be ready, so this is coming out now. Sorry for how long it took._

_As for life . . . I GOT A JOB! *Insert spastic dancing here* Life has been SO crazy. As some of you know, I am a welder by trade, and finally got picked up by a good company. I am the first woman to ever work on their floor in the history of their company, so the guys there have definitely kept me on my toes. I have been so busy between that and everything else that this story has unfortunately been put on the backburner for a while, but hopefully now I can make time to work on it again._

_Also, reiterating what I said above, the chapter count has changed. I like it this way better, as it doesn't seem so unorderly as before. However, there ARE some mistakes now. There are a few time jumps that may not make sense (I've been TRYING to find them to fix them, lol). Aaaaand I JUST noticed I have been spelling Valerie surname wrong since the first chapter. So, now her name flipflops between "Gray" and "Grey" because I haven't found all of 'em yet. Oh well, it all reads the same, right? I'm TRYING. Haha_

_So what do you guys think so far? Any comments/suggestions? I know a lot of you wanted to see some of Danny's POV, so here you go! I'm trying to go easy with it, though, because the whole fun of this story is learning things WITH Sam, and being in his POV would give away a lot of things sooner than I wanted. But I think I found a happy medium now. What do YOU think, though?_

_Thank you to_ **Captain Ozone,** _for letting me use the character Sleetjaw. Read more of him in her awesome story, _Shift_!_


	8. A Game to Play

_In the light and alive._

* * *

**Epíphantos**

**Chapter Eight:**

_**A Game to Play**_

* * *

The taste of death tainted the tongues of nearly every citizen of the Compound, with the weight of loss steady in their hearts. On this day, sadness drew eyes to their lowest, and no amount of consolation could quell the undeniable depression that always seemed to accompany a funeral. In the beginning of the Compound's establishment, funerals had been frequent and extensive, split in to several days in correlation to the death toll. But after the numbers had been catalogued and victims either treated or left to chill, the downwards arc had lessened its steepness.

Today, it was marked in the ledgers that two of the Compound's citizens would be joining that toll.

The mourning began early on in the morning, when Damon Gray appeared before his citizens' eyes on their viewing screens, his hands wielding the whiteness of his speech although his gaze never once slipped downwards. He asked his people for a moment of silence, to which every caring citizen obliged to without hesitation. It was on a day of mourning that the Compound became completely silent, save for the whirring of machines and the overhead lights.

When the moment was over and all silent respects were paid, their leader began reminding his citizens of an end that was not yet near, that the loss of Dick Belair and Sam Manson preluded an era in which the humans would _win_. He spoke many words of inspiration, even as his bravado was betrayed by the shaking of his voice. The citizens watched and they listened, but words were filtering through desensitized ears.

The speech ended, just as Damon Gray's eyes fell to his hands where the white paper fluttered uselessly. His garish face was branded with the darkness of his thoughts, so when his eyes finally lifted to the camera one more time, he told them, "They will forever be in our memory. When this war ends, we will remember what they did for us, the people of Amity."

To the citizens, the deaths of the Sam Manson and Dick Belair were reduced to numbers. Though the beginning of their day was spent respectfully mourning the deceased, the citizens would carry on in the afternoon, after the climax of their sadness ended with a funeral. It would be over, and they would move on, and live. They had already lost so many, so what were the deaths of two more?

The images on every viewing screen within the compound blinked, and then flickered with the seal of the Resistance.

**.**

**xXx**

**.**

Sam woke with a start, lurching from the softness of her bed and into the frigid air of the room. Shivering, she pulled the blankets over her shoulders. Her breaths wafted in icy fingers that tickled at her cheeks, yet she paid no mind to the numbness of her face. She didn't remember ever falling asleep, and it bothered her. How long was she asleep? Did anything happen to her while she was unconscious?

Running her fingers through her matted hair, Sam heaved a sigh and swung her legs over the bed. She looked around, noting the wall of ice that had once been an entryway, and barely suppressed an onslaught of anger. _How _dare_ he seal me in here_, she thought. Her hands wound themselves into fists, and her thoughts darkened as she imagined all the lovely things she would do to Phantom if given the chance.

Unable to stand sitting around any longer, Sam began to dress herself. She pulled on her boots, encased herself within the furry white coat, and began the process of untangling the knots from her hair with her fingers. Her nose wrinkled at the greasy texture of her locks as they slid through her impromptu hand-comb. What she wouldn't give for a hot shower right now.

What she wouldn't give to be _home _right now.

Sam froze, her brows pinching together in confusion. Home. The word was foreign to her, too saturated with the woes of war and destruction. What _was _home to her? It certainly wasn't the Compound. She found herself mulling this thoughtfully as she settled her toes onto the frozen floor. She stood and stretched her muscles, relishing at litheness of her body, before she began to pace the small confines of her room.

The room she was in now was smaller than the last one she woke up in, but just as windowless, much to her chagrin. Just as before, her bed was a ledge of ice that protruded from the wall, with various blankets and furs meant to keep her warm. Aside from that, the room was vacant. She squinted at the ceiling, watching the undulations of the light sphere at her ceiling, and then another strange thought occurred to her.

_Wasn't it dark when I woke up?_

While it hadn't been pitch black upon her waking, the light had been noticeably dimmer. Now, however, it shone at its full capacity, which was so overwhelmingly bright that it stung her eyes and spotted her vision when she looked away or closed her eyes. But it had been darker when she woke up, hadn't it?

Sam's eyes narrowed as her mission formulated itself. She eyed her cot, and then looked upwards, noticing that the ceiling to this room was lower in comparison to the others she had seen so far. With carefully calculated movements, she stepped onto her cot, and began clambering up the outcrops of ice that jutted irregularly from the wall. It didn't get her much higher, but it was enough so that she was only a couple of feet away from the glowing sphere.

Not expecting it when it happened, Sam almost fell from her awkward perch when the thing blinked at her.

She skittered on the ice, but was fortunately able to keep from falling. Cautions this time, Sam began to look at the glowing-thing more critically, and when she did she nearly gasped. What had at first been an amorphous congregation of energy now reformulated itself before her eyes. She had to squint and focus intently, but now that she saw it she was amazed at how obvious it was.

It had eight spidery legs that embedded themselves into the ice, with its swirling, shelled body emitting the light. Through the ice, she could see the talon-like edges of its feet, where bluish energy crawled into tiny, feathery receptors, and pulsated in time with the swirling light of its body. Beady, red eyes glared at her from the small protrusion of its head, which was only noticeable due to the serrated pinchers that twitched with every pulse.

It blinked at her again, and as it did it released a sudden flash of blinding light. Unprepared for this, Sam's previous luck fizzled out when she jumped and fell with a strangled yelp, plummeting to ground below her. Her rear hit the ground, even though her legs caught the edge of her cot, causing her to nearly flip backwards as she fell.

"Oh, that felt awesome," she grumbled to herself, slightly dazed.

She was so intent on detangling her legs from the blankets on her cot that she hadn't even noticed when the wall of ice began to disintegrate, or when a hulking figure ambled in and crept up behind her. At least not until it said, "Excuse me?"

"Gah!" Sam jumped again, rolling so she was kneeling with her arms bared before her, battle ready.

She had never seen a female Yeti before, but there was no denying the creature's femininity as it stood before her with wide, amber eyes. She looked much like the male yeti, with white fur accented with blue, and a muzzle full of gleaming teeth. However, unlike her male counterparts, she was missing the encasement of ice for limbs as well as the massive, curling horns at her head. Her fur seemed softer, her features more elegant, and her frame was definitely slighter. Instead of a warrior beast, she seemed more like a gentle, willowy giant.

Sam frowned at the female yeti, more than a little wary, and pulled herself out of her crouch.

The yeti stuttered momentarily, but was able to collect herself with a deep breath of air. She shifted from foot to foot, uncomfortable in her presence with Sam. "I am sorry for startling you, human Sam. I am *Tsuel." She gestured to herself briefly. "I came to see if you would like breakfast?"

Breakfast? Sam's stomach lurched at the thought, and she couldn't decide if it was because of hunger or unease. Probably both. The yeti must have sensed her apprehension, because she quickly added, "It will be just you. Frostbite and the twins are not here, nor is anyone else."

"Ah, sure," Sam said. For some reason, she couldn't find it within herself to feel any sort of animosity towards the female beast. She seemed too genuine to Sam, too gentle, even though Sam was quite sure the yeti could rip her apart at any moment she wanted. Just because Tsuel was smaller than the males didn't mean she was any less dangerous.

Tsuel smiled brightly. "Great! Follow me!" And then she spun, disappearing through the widened gap in the ice.

Sam began to follow her, wincing at a stab of pain in the back of her knee that had been a result of her fall. _Good going, Manson, _she thought while she limped out into the corridor where Tsuel was waiting for her.

"Are you alright, dear?" Tsuel asked with a frown.

Dear? The yeti called her _dear_? "I'm fine," she said through a tight lipped smile. "Just slipped on the ice."

"Do you require medical assistance?"

"No!" Sam said a bit too loudly, startling the yeti as she leaned away from Sam in surprise. "No, I'm fine. Really."

She offered Tsuel what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

This seemed to mollify Tsuel. She nodded once, and began making her way through the corridor ahead.

Sam suddenly found herself in conflict. With Tsuel's back to her, now was her chance to flee. She looked quickly around her surroundings, noting the sets of tunnels that wound away from her sight, and she stepped forward, unsure. Her eyes flicked again to Tsuel, and then down at her feet. She could try and flee, but because Phantom had placed her somewhere unfamiliar, she was unsure on where to go. Sam was fast, even with an injury, but where would it get her? She might be able to get away, but then what?

"Sam?"

Sam jumped at her name, her widened eyes meeting Tsuel's in a moment of alarm. The yeti's brows were pinched, her head cocked slightly and her ears perked. She seemed to know exactly what Sam had been considering, but she made no move to intervene. She didn't seem angry, either, which surprised Sam. If anything, she just seemed curious.

With a final longing glance at a tunnel to her left, Sam said, "I'm coming."

**.**

**xXx**

**.**

Breakfast was a much less stressful endeavor than her previous dining experience.

Sam spun her spoon within her bowl, relishing the steam that sprung free from her hot food and over her face. Her hands were clasped firmly, soaking in the warmth and the rejuvenating feeling of blood rushing through her veins, clearing the numbness away from her fingertips. She had yet to understand where the food came from, but she wasn't complaining. It had been a long time since she had oatmeal—or, at least, what tasted like it.

She couldn't resist her smile as she inhaled the sweet smell of maple and apples. The taste of it was amazing, even before Tsuel had offered her a cup of a thick, syrupy liquid that tasted surprisingly close to sugar. She stirred the stuff into her bowl, and from then on decided that what she was eating wasn't just food, oh no, it was absolute _heaven_. None of the rationed Compound grains could come close to tasting this good. She sighed happily as she ate a big mouthful of it.

Across the table, Tsuel was chuckling. "I am glad you enjoy my cooking. I was unsure at first, when Frostbite first told me I would be serving a human, what you would eat." She shook her head, her smile wide. "I went a bit overboard last night with the choices. But I am glad things seemed to work out for you!"

Realization dawned on Sam and she gasped, nearly dropping her spoon into the bowl. "Wait, _you _cooked everything last night?"

"I did, yes. Is there a problem?"

"Uh, no. I just . . . there was a lot there . . ."

"Oh!" Tsuel was laughing again, deeply. "Yes, I am quite used to that. Dinners are held here often in the chief's castle, so the addition of a single human was hardly an imposition. My, Frostbite and the twins alone can eat enough to feed an army! As I said, I am just glad we could find something you would like."

Sam's mind was reeling for multiple reasons. So she was in a castle, then? That would certainly explain a lot. She also couldn't believe how _open _Tsuel was being with her. With the other yeti, Sam had felt as if she were under constant observation. They had either been frightened of her, angry with her, or saw her merely as a tool to use for whatever they were planning to use her for.

With Tsuel, she felt warm and safe, and that feeling scared her more than anything so far. She should _not _be feeling this way. Even if the yeti weren't ghosts, they were still the _enemy_. They were still the existing force between her and her return to the Compound, to her kin. She had yet to find out what happened to the other Warriors, so the _last _thing she should be feeling right now is complacent. Complacency was _dangerous. _

Swallowing a mouth full of hot grain, Sam decided to redirect the conversation. "So, are you like a servant for Frostbite, or something?"

"Hardly," Tsuel said with a snort. "I just cook for him and the cubs. I was a nanny for the children when they were growing up, and because they liked my cooking so much, Frostbite decided to keep me on as a cook. I would have stayed last night to see you through dinner, but I was required elsewhere."

"The children? You mean—?"

"Danny and Ellie, yes."

"Huh." Sam churned her spoon around in her bowl. For some reason, the words "growing up" resonated strangely to her. She believed Frostbite when he told her that the yeti weren't ghosts, but in regards to Da—Phantom and Elle? She wasn't so sure. She chewed on her bottom lip, pushing a glop of grain around into a large pile in the center of her bowl. Everything was so _strange_.

"So, what happens now?"

"Now?" Tsuel hummed, rapping her claws thoughtfully on the stone table. "Well, I can't say exactly what, but I _do_ know that Frostbite plans to introduce you to the villagers today. He and the twins left early this morning for *Cinomrah, but he said he would be back to hold a gathering in the late afternoon."

"Cinomrah?"

Tsuel frowned, her eyes widening in alarm. "I, er, well . . ." She sighed. "I am not supposed to tell you anything yet. But—oh well, that bear of a yeti can cry about it later. Cinomrah is one of the bordering mountains outside Ec'Nelis, our town. It is the largest and the most spiritual, and it is where Frostbite takes his children to train."

Again, Sam found herself completely amazed at the sheer honesty Tsuel was expressing. She didn't _have _to answer Sam's questions, but she did anyway. It was then that Sam decided, very tentatively, that she may actually _like _this yeti. She was utterly enthralled with the words that fluttered like music from Tsuel's muzzle. There were mountains? There was a town? Villagers? Just where the hell _was _she?

There was a sound of knuckles rapping against stone, accompanied by the words, "Knock, knock." Both Sam and Tsuel jumped at the suddenness of it.

"Frostbite!" Tsuel exclaimed with her paw at her chest. "You nearly frightened the life out of me!"

Sam turned to see what could only be a sheepish smile on the larger yeti's face. "I apologize, Tsuel." Then his gaze flickered over Sam, and his large head nodded once. "Good morning, Sam," he said in a pleasant voice, "I trust your night's sleep was sufficient?"

Before Sam could answer, Tsuel rolled her eyes and said, "It may have been better if you put her somewhere less frozen. The poor dear was nothing but shivers when I came upon her this morning. We should put her in the twins' old quarters. If you remember, they couldn't handle the cold when they were little, either."

Frostbite sent Tsuel a dark look that instantly had her looking away from him and to the floor, as if she had said something inappropriate. "I will look into it, thank you, Tsuel."

The female nodded and scrambled to her feet. "Ah, yes, okay." Her tail swished behind her as she made for a quick leave of the dining hall, but before she left she paused by Sam and placed a large paw at her shoulder. "Good luck to you, dear," she said warmly, "I will most likely see you during the gathering, but until then I hope all is well." And then she was gone.

Any sort of comfort Sam had been feeling vanished once she was alone with Frostbite. She felt her muscles tighten, her brows drawing together as the pair continued to look at each other. Tsuel had been a breath of fresh air, obviously having no part of whatever the governing body of the Far Frozen consisted of. As kind as Frostbite had been, he was still a leader, an alpha, and the calculative narrowing of his red eyes unnerved her immensely.

"So," he began, "I see you have been making friends."

"You could say that."

"Hm." Frostbite's brows lowered as he considered something, but the look vanished after only a moment. He smiled. "I am sorry if I seem unhospitable. I want us all to be friends, Sam, but you must understand my reservations for your learning so much so soon. Or am I wrong?"

Oh, so this is the game he wanted to play? Sam smiled right back. "No, I do, but _you_ must understand what little of a threat I am without my gear. What could I possibly do?"

It was the closest she had come to a threat with him yet, open and ambiguous. He seemed unperturbed by it, however, merely nodding his head in agreement. "One should assume. But the last thing I want is for you to be underestimated. You are more powerful than you think. Even without your weapons."

Sam frowned, not expecting this. _How do I respond to that? _

Their conversation was quickly slipping into unexplored territory, one that teetered on the threshold of political warfare. He had been nothing but friendly to her so far, but that didn't mean he wasn't just as cautious of her as she was of him. Even with the large bulk of him towering over her, armed with teeth and claws and whatever the hell else he had in his unseen arsenal, he remained wary of _her_. Scared of her, even; of what she might be capable of.

Sam couldn't help the slight laugh the bubbled up from her chest. How amusing for him it would be if he knew just how weak and defenseless she was in comparison to him. Without her weapons, she was nothing. _But then_, she thought as she stuffed a spoonful of the rapidly chilling grain into her mouth, _maybe I _should _let him be wary of me. He knows nothing about me. For all he knows, I _do_ have secret, deathly powers. _

Arching an eyebrow, she swallowed her circumspection and bravely asked, "So, what's up?"

After a few heartbeats of uncertain silence, Frostbite queried, "Up?" His eyes flickered upwards, towards the ceiling, where one of the strange ice-eating light-spiders clung. "What do you mean, 'what is _up_?'"

"I mean, what do you want?"

"Oh, right," he said. He stepped away from the entryway and settled himself where Tsuel had sat earlier, right across from Sam. He crossed his paws over the table, and she couldn't resist eyeing where the mark should have been from when he cut his skin with the knife last night. She was only slightly surprised to see it was no longer there. "I am not sure what Tsuel has told you, but it is my intent to hold a gathering in your honor."

"What if I don't want to go?"

"That would be . . . unfortunate, but I will not force you attend."

"Why not?"

"Because," Frostbite said, meeting her stubborn gaze. "That is not the kind of relationship I want us to have. You are our _guest_."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "The word 'guest' implies that I can leave whenever I want. But I can't do that, can I?"

"No, but not for the reasons you think."

She arched an eyebrow. Frostbite sighed.

"I understand why you are skeptical, Sam, but you are not here because we brought you here intentionally. Humans are not the only creatures of our universe undergoing the effects of war. You can't know this, but Pariah Dark's influence over his armies is increasing exponentially." He looked away from her, flexing his icy arm and causing the sinews within to ripple. "It will not be long before your human realm experiences the potency of raids."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked. Her blood was suddenly thinning into ice, so she buried her chin into the fur of her coat. Appetite gone, she pushed her bowl away. "What's going to happen?"

Frostbite was silent for a moment, his eyes grave. Then, he said, "As Pariah Dark's energy regenerates, so does his influence over the lesser ghosts. It has been nearly twenty years since his last appearance. When he wakes, his power will be unfathomable. Virtually unstoppable."

"Wait, twenty years? I watched him destroy Amity Park two years ago!"

Frostbite laughed without humor. "You think that was _him_? If it were, none of you would have survived. No, it was abundant energy congregating to form his image, his will, but it was most certainly _not _him." He shook his head. "This is why I need you, Sam. We all do."

"What do you expect me to, exactly?"

"Rally your human kin. My children already intend to unite the Infinite Realms, but we will not be complete without the humans." His eyes met hers, fierce and determined. "Together, we all may be enough to end Pariah Dark, and this war."

"So, let me get this straight," she began, crossing her arms. "You take me away from my world, my people, and you actually expect me to swallow my hatred for whatever the hell you guys are and _help you_? Are you _nuts_?"

"I only intend for you to help _us_ so we may help _you_."

"I might have been able to stomach that if I weren't currently being held captive against my will," Sam snapped, her patience finally wearing thin. Self-preservation, be damned. She was done playing nice with him. "What are you going to do if I refuse? Chop me up and serve me on a shiny platter like whatever the hell was on this table last night? Find another human and try again, rinse and repeat?"

For the first time, Sam watched Frostbite's calm demeanor stiffen into anger towards her. Shiny, sharp fangs peeked from underneath his snarling lip. "Is that what you think? When have I ever expressed _any _sort of antagonism in you regard? I have been nothing but kind, wanted nothing but your safety!"

"And yet _Phantom _sealed me in that stupid, tiny—and not to mention _freezing—_room. I woke up here, trapped,"—she stabbed her finger towards him—"was _attacked_, and you actually call me a guest and expect me to help you! If you really wanted to help you would send me home! Not keep me here! I don't even know if my friends are still alive!"

Frostbite pinched the bridge of his muzzle and took a deep, deep breath. "I am truly sorry you are here. But as I have said, it is not for the reasons you think. You cannot leave, not because you are forced here, but because there is simply no way back."

The ice in Sam's veins seemed to still completely, washing the color away from her face. "What do you mean 'no way back?'"

"It is why my son has returned with you," he said. "Portals between our worlds form naturally, shifting between the barriers of space and time because of an electromagnetic rift. However, since the raids, the barriers have shifted, destabilizing the portals. We have ways of predicting when they will reappear, and the next one will not be for some time. I would send you home if I could, Sam, but I cannot."

Sam felt as if the floor had been pulled from beneath her feet. Her stomach was twisting almost painfully, rolling and churning along with the realization that slowly dawned, became tangible right before he eyes. "How—how long are we talking here?"

"By human standards . . ." There was a pause as he considered his words. "Thirteen months."

_Thirteen months_.

Sam felt her horror surface suddenly in a torrent of revelation. _Thirteen months_! That was just over year! Sam's head was shaking, and for the first time in the presence of anyone, tears pooled within her eyes, making trails along her cheeks. A lot can happen in a year. Too much.

"There's no way back until then?"

She knew the answer before he said it.

"No, there is not."

.

**xXx**

**.**

Tucker was numb, oddly detached from reality as he watched the Mansons bury an empty urn. For the life of him, he couldn't fathom that the vase was for _Sam_, because there had been no ashes to bury, no body to mourn. Without the weight of her incinerated remains, Tucker couldn't find it within himself to feel the sense of closure that is usually accompanied by the death of a loved one. The churning of his stomach continued with roll with a single word.

_Gone._

Tucker paled, quickly wiping the sheen of sweat from his upper lip.

Gone. Sam wasn't gone. He refused to accept it. She was alive—somehow, somewhere. Damnit, she was! She was! He removed his glasses and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. He looked around until he saw Mr. and Mrs. Fenton, clutching each other with tears in their eyes as Sam's parents began dumping the first symbolic shovelfuls of dirt into their daughter's gave, sealing away the embodiment of her person in the form of an empty lavender urn.

From the Fentons, his eyes shifted slightly passed them where he saw Valerie Gray. She looked beautiful in her black shawl, dark ringlet hair swept and concealed beneath her bandanna. She must have sensed his stare, because her head suddenly snapped up to look at him. There was an instant flurry of emotion that caused her eyes to water, and she shook her head at him, meeting his eyes for the first time in what seemed like forever. Even from here, Tucker could hear in the voice of the girl he once loved say the words she should have said long ago:

"_I'm sorry." _

Unable to continue meeting his glare, she turned away and fled. Tucker saw flashes of her springing hair as she trotted towards the elevator and disappeared.

The Mansons wept and wailed loudly as the last fall of dirt settled upon Sam's urn. Tucker felt his heart shatter as Maddie Fenton ran towards Sam's mother and enveloped the sobbing woman in her most crushing of hugs. Jack Fenton and Jeremiah Manson exchanged grave nods of acknowledgement, each too devastated to meet the eyes of the other. The Warriors from Sam's posse were there, too; they stood with their shoulders sagged, for they had just witnessed the back-to-back burial of two of their brethren.

Jazz was beside him, and surprised him as she abruptly lunged and buried her nose into the collar of his shirt. He could feel the tears as they seeped into the skin on his chest. He held her then, and he held her close.

Those in attendance of a funeral often stay within the lowest level of the Compound, the graveyard, and continue with their mourning and comforting of each other well into the evening hours. But today, things would be different. Today, things would change.

The funeral came to a sudden, overwhelming halt—

Tucker barely had time to register the resounding of the Compound's emergency alarms before the screams started—

They were under attack.

**.**

**xXx**

**.**

"So, you are willing to try?"

Sam sighed, raking her hand through her hair. A headache was throbbing at her temples, stinging behind her eyes. "I don't really have a choice, do I?"

"You do. You could choose not to attend, and refuse all attempts of civility. We will not force you to do anything you do not want to do."

"But if I'm going to be here this long it kind of defeats the point, doesn't it?"

"We would find a way to leave you in peace until the portal reopens."

She pinched the skin between her eyes and pulled, hoping it would somehow alleviate the pressure. "What do you want me to do, exactly?"

"In order for an alliance to form, we must first learn what we can about each other. My intent is for you to become a valued member of our society. The more trust that we establish, the more I will reveal to you the secrets of the war, and of Pariah Dark."

There was silence as Sam began to ponder the consequence of each variable. She leaned forward and pulled her now chilly bowl of grain close, touching the skin of her forehead to the cool surface of it. She hoped it would help to numb the pain, as well as calm the erratic turmoil of nerves thundering within her head.

"I'll try."

**.**

**xXx**

**.**

For the first time in what felt like years, Sam took her first shaking steps out from an encasement of ice and stone and fear.

Her booted feet crunched on the snowy earth, and she had to nestle deep within recesses of her coat as a bitter wind ripped through her clothes like wildfire. She inhaled the crisp, cold air, savoring the freshness of it, and whatever hesitancy she had been feeling evaporated the moment her eyes adjusted to the brightness of the outside.

She never realized how green her own world was until she stepped into another that was anything but.

Colorful, celestial moons arced lazily over a grayish-blue sky, and at every horizon she could see snowcapped mountains that towered so high she had to strain to see where they ended. The wind danced with fluffy bits of snow, swirling and twirling around her. Sam's eyes lowered as she took another step, cupping her hands and allowing the snowflakes to settle gently on her palms. They melted almost instantly, but she had just enough time to see the intricacy of each one before they vanished.

Her entourage, which consisted of Frostbite at her left, and Frostbreath at her right (Icefang was behind her, but Sam was effectively disregarding his existence), followed her as she walked slowly through the snow and towards the heart of the village.

Huts constructed solely of ice were everywhere, some more elaborate than others. Most of them were rounded at the base, with rooftops the spiraled high. Every building was winding and free, lacking any sort of conformity. Different shades and colors of ice gleamed from every direction, shining beautifully under the natural light. Through open windows, Sam could see in many of the huts the comforting glow of light, while others remained hidden within their curtain furs. Looking behind her, she was surprised to see that the 'castle' was actually the base of a hollowed mountain.

Frostbite led her through a throng of wary yeti, the villagers, where they stood gathered together at the edges of the worn pathway, watching her. Whispers followed her as she passed, their gazes never once flitting away. Clutching to the legs of some of the females, Sam was astounded to see what could only be children as they peeked shyly at her. One of them even smiled.

Its mother noticed the direction of Sam's eyes on her grinning child and began to growl. The surrounding males shifted, concealing the child from Sam's view, with bared fangs and narrowed eyes of mistrust.

Sam quickly averted her gaze, looking instead to where Frostbite was directing her. There, at the center of the village where the huts came to a circular formation, Sam could see the clearing and a platform of ice that erected from the snow. It wasn't steep, so she was easily able to clamber up it as the three yeti males followed her. Once there, Sam was immediately nervous. She shifted, pulling her furry coat tight around her shoulders, hoping to hide from the prying eyes of the suspicious villagers.

_You can do this, _she told herself.

There was silence as Frostbite looked around, seemingly meeting the eyes of his people. And then, before he could say anything, there was an intense noise as the sound barrier above them shattered. Sam had to shield her eyes as she looked upwards, watching as two humanoid figures plummeted from the sky and landed on the platform beside Frostbite with a resounding _crack_.

"I thought you two would be here sooner," Frostbite muttered under his breath, glaring at his children.

"Sorry, dad," Elle said. "Blame Danny."

"Hey!" Phantom nearly shouted, only to be hushed by Frostbite.

"Enough! You two are late, and we must proceed."

Sam crossed her arms over her chest, self-conscious as the twin phantoms turned to look at her. Elle's gaze was as cold as ever; she looked Sam over once and then turned away with an indignant sniff. Phantom's gaze was harder to bear. He cocked his head and smiled slightly, but Sam refused to acknowledge him, still pissed off from the events of the previous night.

Frostbite stepped forward, and his children followed. They stood in a line, with Phantom at Frostbite's left shoulder and Elle at his right. In a loud voice directed at the crowd of yeti, he said, "I have called you all together for a very important reason today. As you are all aware, my son, Danny, has returned from his absence in the human realm. These past few moons have been tough for the Far Frozen, and I am sure you are all grateful for his return."

Hoots and howls of agreement resounded from the crowd. He raised his paw to silence them.

"Coinciding with my son's return, we have been given a very rare and unique opportunity." Sam's heart leapt to her throat when Frostbite turned to look at her, gesturing to her with his arm. "For the first time in history, we will be welcoming a human within our midst. Now, I want you all to aide in welcoming her, as she will be with us for quite some time. She is here to learn our ways, and you will all treat her with the respect she deserves."

The whispers started again as the crowd shifted, hundreds of eyes widening, straining and pushing amongst each other to see her. Sam felt her face burning. She wished more than anything that she could disappear, be consumed by the ice beneath her feet. Frostbite was looking at her again, expectantly, but she frowned at him in confusion. What was she supposed to? She had no idea.

Frostbreath, who had been silent up until this point, came to the rescue when he quietly whispered to her, "He wants you to step forward."

"_What?_" Sam replied, aghast. Step forward so they _all _could see her? _No thanks!_

Turns out, she didn't have a choice in the matter. A force from her back roughly shoved her forward. Sam shot a glare over her shoulder at Icefang as she stumbled, right into Phantom, who caught her arm easily and stilled her. She resisted the urge to unleash the venom of her glare on him as well, embarrassment flushing her cheeks.

Frostbite smiled down at her, unperturbed by her mortification. He placed a hand on her shoulder as he said, "I want you all to meet Sam of the Very Vegan, Slayer of Ghosts. I am sure many of you have heard of her before. She is a warrior to her kin, and has felled many of the ghosts under the servitude of Pariah Dark."

There was an abrupt and collective gasp from the crowd. Sam allowed her eyes to drift to the wide-eyed yeti, and somehow she met the gaze of Tsuel, who stood as close to the platform as she could get. Snuggled into the fur of her arms and chest was an infant. Tsuel smiled at Sam, and then very delicately, she lifted the paw of her sleeping babe and proceeded to make it wave. It was then that the shocked silence of the crowd shattered.

At first, Sam didn't comprehend what it was that she was hearing. The whooping, the hollering, the whistling—it was enough to send her senses into overdrive. She stood frozen, her eyes wide and as panicked as a deer in headlights. She had expected anger and resentment, but this? This couldn't be right.

The yeti were cheering.

* * *

*** _Tsuel_ \- Pronounced "Sool"**

*** _Cinomrah_ \- Pronounced "Sin-nom-rah"**

**_"In the light and alive" will be the new heading to each chapter. I will be adding it to the others shortly (when I fee like it)._**

* * *

_A/N: Oh wow, this chapter got really long. Jeeze. I actually had to cut it towards the end because of how long it was getting. I just didn't want to end it! ARGH! So, _**The Punch Lord**_, I am sorry, I lied; you will get the answer to that question you've been asking in the next chapter (even though I'm pretty sure you and can already guess what's going to happen). _

_I didn't get much feedback on the last chapter. Please, guys, I am open to suggestions. If this story is boring you, tell me. If you have any suggestions, such as anything you would like to see specifically, TELL ME. Please. I LOVE hearing what you guys have to say. Reviews are the key to quicker updates. They help immensely with my motivation. So all you lurkers out there—REVIEW! _

_Also, I want to say thank you to everyone who has been reviewing/favoring/following. You guys are AMAZING. Seriously. THANK YOU so much to EVERYONE. You have no idea how much it means to read the nice, and helpfully critical, things you guys have to say. _

_I have some pretty big news, writing wise. It won't happen anytime soon, but I am in the works of writing another Danny Phantom AU. Unlike __Epíphantos__, this one will be planned and mostly prewritten at the time of my updates. I plan to start posting it at the conclusion of this story, probably in tandem with the sequel (Yes guys, there will be a sequel to _Epíphantos_!). I am pouring my heart and soul into it (right now it's only handwritten notes and a jumble of random scenes, lol), and I cannot wait to start posting. So far, the working title is _The Last of Us_, and it is loosely (VERY LOOSELY) based off of the video game of the same name. In a way, it is very similar to _Epíphantos_. The world is prowled by ghosts (instead of zombies like it is in the game), and humans are fighting for survival. However, unlike _EP_, it is VERY dark. It's full of grit, and gore, and death, and is a fast-paced, post-apocalyptic survival story. They may sound the same now, but I assure you, they are NOTHING alike. _Epíphantos_ is more about overcoming preconceived judgments, and relearning a world through once-biased eyes. TLoU will be about one thing: survival. Ahhhh, and I can't wait! What do you guys think?_

_Oh, and P.S., there will be a lot more Danny/Sam interaction in the next chapter! I missed him and Ellie in this one. Wahhhhh. _


	9. Sea of Stars

_In the light and alive._

* * *

**Epíphantos**

**Chapter Nine:**

_**Sea of Stars**_

* * *

They were cheering. So loud that it resounded off every icy surface, redirecting straight into her eardrums, into her heart. To Sam, they sounded like cries of war. It was insane.

She recoiled at the sound, just as her jaw dropped. Why were they _cheering _for her? It made no sense. None whatsoever. Her face must have said it all, because when she happened to look away from the crowd, she noticed that Frostbite, Elle, and Phantom were watching her in amusement.

"You know how I told you that you were infamous in the ghost zone?" Phantom said. "Here it's not necessarily a bad thing."

"My son is correct," Frostbite agreed, nodding his massive head. "You are the enemy of our enemy, so therefor it makes us allies, in a sense. There is not a single yeti here who hasn't heard of your exploits. You are a legend, Sam, and for that we are all thankful."

**.**

**xXx**

**.**

The weeks that followed Sam's introduction into the Yeti society passed quickly, blurred by her mounting paranoia as well as her confinement in the foreign realm. Much of her time was spent with the ever-calculative—yet oddly maternal—Frostbite, as he worked to teach her the interwoven structure of yeti sociology. The early hours of each day were spent with him in his study, and Sam would warm her hands over the crackling fire as he lectured her on things beyond her understanding.

"So, let me get this straight," Sam said to him one morning as she nursed a cup of hot tea, "you're telling me that the Far Frozen is actually one of several dimensions to a single multiverse, and we're somehow quantum-mechanically linked together, and that each world has its own alternative history and laws of nature and relativity . . .?"

"That's a bit of a crude translation, but you have the right idea, I suppose."

Sam scoffed and shook her head. "I don't understand any of this crap."

"I am merely trying to explain to you why it is the yeti are the way they are."

"_Quantum-mechanically_, right?"

Frostbite sighed. "Of any of the existing realms, the yeti are the most similar to humans, both biologically and socially." He reached over and stoked the fire. Sam eyed his icy arm as he did so and was only mildly surprised when it maintained its solidity. "We are a result of convergent evolution. Two unrelated species that have acquired similar traits because of adaption to an analogous environment, and because we both maintain a similar niche in our ecosystems."

"And you're telling me this why?"

"Because information is essential to understanding the paradox of our universe!"

Sam's eye twitched. It was like Fenton Lectures all over again.

**. **

**. **

Her afternoons were less intellectually taxing, spent with Tsuel as the two of them ambled about the small village of Ec'Nelis, visiting various shops and interacting with the townsfolk. Despite the cheers she garnered upon her introduction, the Yetis' enthusiasm for her presence quickly dwindled down into wary toleration. They never spoke directly to her, only to Tsuel, and when she looked at them they turned away, avoiding her like the plague. Children were banned by their mothers from coming anywhere near her.

Even Tsuel refused to bring her child around.

"It's not you, dear," Tsuel had said by way of explanation. "I personally think you're harmless. But the yeti are especially protective of children. Not many females are able to conceive, so to us, children are a treasured rarity. They would not appreciate my bringing her around you quite yet."

Sam had nodded solemnly to that.

It was exhausting, to say the least.

Even though they didn't speak to her, Sam couldn't help but be intrigued by the functioning unit of the village as a whole. The yeti were thoughtful, humble creatures, many of whom shared a passion for knowledge and intellectual stimuli. Though their town was ice and their homes were mere huts, their scientific advancements were amazing. The castle, as Sam came to understand, was where the yeti conducted their research.

What was the most surprising thing to her was the abundance of other creatures besides the yeti. Similar to the way her world functioned, the Far Frozen was a diverse ecosystem, with the yeti as the hierarchy, and many other creatures of lesser intellect supporting them. White-furred Doglike creatures with hooked faces and talon claws ran about the town freely, chasing laughing yeti children and occasionally being treated to morsels of food scraps, tossed into the pathways between huts by the occasional yeti.

She noticed one day with glee that there were birds, too! They flew through the skies and landed on the high rises of huts. Sam never got close enough to see them, but from the distance she could see that they were a darker grey with the faintest hints of blue at their wingtips and tail feathers. Their beaks were large and curved. Good for digging into the ice, she was told.

There were many others that Sam had yet to see, but, of all the creatures, what amazed her most were the horses.

They were _monstrous_—big enough to support a yeti—and six legged. Their tails were long and sinuous, with course fringe at the ends. Two large curling hours led into a wide, flat head, and a muscular neck. Big chests, along with thick legs and cleft hooves, made them excellent ice runners. The colors and patterns of their fur varied, but mostly consisted of various hues grey accented with faint blue markings, very similar to the color scheme of the typical yeti. From what Tsuel told her, they were used for transportation, and hunting the yakk, the yeti's main food source.

Sam was an environmental enthusiast at heart, so everything she learned about this new world amazed her. Learning, coupled with observation, was excellent for distraction. It kept her from thinking of home.

Almost.

**. **

**.**

At night she was always locked away.

As soon as the sun began to dip into the horizon, illuminating the otherworldly moons, Sam would be led back to her room without preamble. There, she would spend the remaining hours of wakefulness curled before the fireplace in her new room, wondering to herself about the fate of her kin. In truth, she preferred the loneliness. The more time she spent with Tsuel and in the town, the more attached she became. Her morals, her principles—everything that ever had defined her as a Warrior—were slipping away, bit by bit, and it was leaving her more confused than ever.

She had never been so conflicted about anything in her life. Sam prided herself in being the level-headed, resolute woman that she was. She had her ideals, coinciding with the thick tapestries of her pride. Never before now had she doubted herself, and never before now had she had a reason to.

And it scared her.

**.**

**.**

Sometimes, she would wake to the rumbling of close-proximity explosions.

The first time it happened, she had panicked.

She'd jolted out of her cot, her feet coming to rest on the quaking floor. Thoughts of being buried alive and suffocation flooded to the forefront of her mind. It was claustrophobia, instilled in her from her years forcibly spent underground. She went rabid, clawing at the divider of ice separating her from freedom.

"Let me out of here!" she screamed! "Let me out!"

No one came, and she screamed until her voice was raw and hoarse. She hugged her knees with her face pressed to the freezing barrier, tears streaking down her cheeks and her dignity long since abandoned while the hours passed. She fell asleep there.

The next day, the town was in shambles. By the time she emerged from the mountain castle with Tsuel, the yeti were already working to restore it, unified and efficient. Many of them were wounded. No one answered her questions, not even Tsuel, and it was the first day she'd spent in the Far Frozen that she didn't see a single smile, nor hear the utterance of laughter.

It was easier to handle the second time it happened, and even more so by the third. By the tenth time, her sixth week there, she'd simply stayed in her bed and listened.

**.**

**.**

And then there was Danny. No, _Phantom. _

He was an enigma she couldn't solve. During her afternoon walks with Tsuel, she would often see him about the town, sometimes in the company of Elle, and other times alone. When she thought back to their first encounter in Amity, she recalled his abrasiveness, as well as his irritating air of superiority. He had been so intimidating then, as loath as she was to admit it (even to herself), but now . . .?

When she saw him in the town he was thin-lipped smiles, nods of acknowledgment, and a posture rigid enough to make even her snooty motherproud. He hardly spoke, but when he did it was equally polite and authoritative. Strictly politics. He didn't laugh, and he didn't mingle. Not like the yeti did, anyway. It irritated Sam that she couldn't make sense of who—or what, rather—he was. He was never consistent enough for her to understand.

Tsuel grimaced when she mentioned it one afternoon. They two of them were working diligently in the castle's kitchen, preparing lunch for themselves as well as prepping for dinner. Tsuel worked with the meats, while Sam prepared the fruit and vegetable platters.

"Yes, if I know anything about that boy is that he can be a bit stiff," she said. Her claws clattered against the stone tabletops of the kitchen's counters as she bustled about.

"Why is he like that with the yeti though? Frostbite isn't like that?" Sam asked as she worked, jumping to avoid Tsuel's swinging tail. Despite the enormity of the castle, the kitchen was rather cramped. She and Tsuel had quickly developed a system to avoid collision.

Tsuel sighed. "His relationship with the other yeti is complicated. They adore and respect him, as I'm sure you've noticed, but when so much weight is placed on the shoulders of a boy as young as he, well, it tends to make interactions a bit tricky."

Sam's brows pinched. "Why?"

Another sigh, though this one crossed the threshold of exasperation. "Sam, dear, I don't know if you've noticed, but the townsfolk have placed Danny—and Ellie, too, really—on a pedestal. They expect so much from him." She paused to meet Sam's gaze and her eyes gleamed with sadness. "It is hard for me to see him this way. So grown up and aloof. But once you get to know him he truly has a heart of gold. I should know, seeing as I've practically _raised_ him. When he was a cub he was nothing but smiles and laughs . . . " She trailed off and her fangs bit at her lip. White-furred knuckles fisted themselves into the fabric of her apron.

Again, the strange feeling about the phantom twins _growing_—being _raised_—returned, pooling within the back of her mind and niggling at her, almost as if she was missing something obvious. It made no sense to her. Even if the yeti were not, Phantom and his bitch of a sister were definitely ghosts. Her ectosensors confirmed it when she'd nullified Phantom's intangibility upon their initial meeting.

Just then, another thought occurred to her. "How old is he, anyway?" she asked.

Tsuel dropped the cup of seasoning she was holding. It clattered as it hit the floor, rolling and spilling its contents, before coming to rest at the toe of Sam's boot.

"I'm sorry, dear," Tsuel said quickly, "what was that again?"

Sam's brow furrowed. "I asked you how old Danny is. You said you raised him. From what, a child? A pile of unformed ectoplasm? I mean, he_ is_ a ghost, right?" Trained as she was to recognize the subliminal changes of facial expression, Sam noticed immediately when Tsuel's amber eyes widened, along the imperceptible slacking of her jaw.

After a few moments of stunned silence, Tsuel whispered, "Frostbite would not like me talking about this."

Sam heaved a sigh and bent to pick up the stone cup at her feet. If it was one thing Sam knew about Tsuel, it was that the warmhearted yeti often spoke without thinking, and inadvertently gave away more information than was probably acceptable. It was one of the things Sam loved about her.

"Listen, I'm sorry," Sam said, smiling as shamefacedly as she could manage. "I don't mean to weird you out so much by asking questions. The last thing I want to do is get you in trouble with Sir Rambles-a-lot. I'm just trying to make sense of all"—she gestured around the room, as if it in itself explained the vastness of her woes—"_this,_ y'know?"

"Yes, yes, I know, dear. I know." Tsuel huffed, though her tone was soft with empathy. She turned to face Sam, leaning her haunches against the counter. "And I would love nothing more than to tell you all I know about him. About them. But honestly, even _I_ don't know that much about them. I don't know where they came from, or why they are here. What I do know is that Frostbite loved them unconditionally from the moment that they were brought here. And well, so did I."

Sam began to roll the cup around in her hands, watching carefully as Tsuel's muzzle curved into a faint, reminiscent smile. She too leaned back on the counter in thought. "Everything is so weird here. All I've ever known is Amity Park, and war, and destroying _ghosts_—" Realizing what she said, her eyes slid sideways to catch the yeti's reaction, hoping Tsuel wasn't offended.

Tsuel caught on immediately. "Ghosts have only recently been accepted here into our society as well," she said, much to Sam's astonishment. "It was quite the phenomenon for us, too. For so many years now, the Far Frozen—as well as many of the other realms—has been at war with them. Our males hunted them out of our realm on a daily basis, massacring them like vermin. Like you, we never thought they could be anything . . . more."

Sam's incredulity lit her face like fire. She certainly didn't see this coming. "What changed?" she breathed.

Tsuel's eyes met hers again causing a rush of understanding to surge within her. Her jaw nearly hit the floor.

"It was him, wasn't it?" Sam exclaimed, unable to contain herself. "Pha—I mean, Danny. It was both of them."

"It was."

She wanted to ask more, but her better judgment kept her from doing so once she noticed how guarded Tsuel had suddenly become. _Clam down,_ _Manson, _she told herself, _you won't get anywhere by interrogating her. _But the urge to _know _was driving her insane! So much so that she had to bite her lip to keep from asking anyway.

Pushing away from the counter, Sam returned to her menial task of pulverizing oversized veggies into something suitable enough for her consumption. She tried her best to focus on the rhythmic _chop, chop, chop _of the knife in her hands, but it pierced the air like screams. Tsuel was never this quiet. There was tension, and Sam wished more than ever that she could use the knife to cut _it _instead of the vegetables.

"He's twenty, by the way."

Sam faltered and almost cut her finger. "W-what?"

"The human categorization of time would make him to be twenty years old."

Sam took a moment to steady herself before she began chopping again, nodding silently in response. She pretended as if everything was fine, that the world continued to spin on its axis, and that Tsuel hadn't just dropped the biggest bombshell yet.

There was no way any ghost could be as strong as Phantom after only twenty years of existence, not without disregarding the theory of ecto-molecular expansion and radiation, developed by the one and only Madeline Fenton—a theory that had just recently been recognized as fact by the Guys in White's databases. What that meant, Sam wasn't sure, but she did know that whatever it was, it was _big_.

Behind her, Sam heard the clacking of Tsuel's claws as the yeti resumed her task of preparing food.

Conversation had been sparse after that.

**.**

**xXx**

**.**

"I missed this."

He watched as the wind tousled the wild fringe of Elle's bangs, her fingers weaving meticulously through strands of hair. They sat together, propped up on an outcrop that extended from the mountain and overlooked the celestial curve of moons. Their legs swung as free as their ease. It had been a long time since they spent time together like this.

Danny smiled. He nudged Elle's side with his elbow. "I did too."

Elle hummed in reply. She leaned backwards, stretching her arms behind her head. Then, completely taking him by surprise, she asked, "So what _really _happened back in the human realm?"

He balked and turned to look at her, wide-eyed. "What?"

"You heard me."

Now that he as looking at her, he noted the near instant narrowing of her eyes as well as the determined set of her jaw. The silence remained unbroken.

"Oh _come on_, Danny," she whined. "I'm not as fragile as you think I am. I can handle it."

"I don't think you're fragile," Danny snapped, crossing his arms. "I already told you everything. Nothing else happened."

Elle glowered at him.

"I'm serious, Elle," Danny said darkly, unleashing his own glare. Acid green flashed in the silver light.

"Your angry eyes don't work on me, idiot."

Danny rolled his eyes and huffed exasperatedly, redirecting his gaze over the expanse of sky and ice at their feet. He could feel Elle watching him, but he ignored her. Instead he leaned forward, letting his body conform itself to the drafts of wind that billowed around him. He dipped into his power core, into the weightlessness of flight, and then suddenly he was a streaking shadow across the twilight. He felt the atmosphere shift as his sister followed him.

They floated silently through the skies, far above the twirling mass of clouds, letting the frigid air tickle their cheeks. The yakkskin white of their clothing was stark against the inky sky.

After only a heartbeat of silence, Elle's impatience overcame her. "Okay, so we're floating dramatically over Cinomrah," she said, feigning boredom. "Get one with the deep, dark emotional speech that you think I'm apparently too much of a wimp to handle."

Danny narrowed his eyes at her. "When did you become so domineering?"

"The same time you became a reclusive butt."

"I'm not a reclusive butt."

"Yes you are, actually."

They faced each other in a silent war of wills while the world of stars and clouds continued to spin around them. Finally, Elle sighed and drifted close enough to him so that she could touch his arm.

"Look," she said, "I'm in this war just as much as you are. You have to stop treating me like I can't handle myself. What happened to me is in the past and I'm over it. Please, Danny, I need to know what I'm up against."

Danny frowned at her. When had his sister become so mature? Sure, they were technically the same age, but Danny had always seen her as someone he needed to protect, to shelter away from the evils of the world. He wanted her to remain innocent. After what happened to her in the material world four years ago, he never wanted to see her marred again.

Her jade eyes met his, allowing understanding to flit between them. The war had changed him, and as much as he'd hoped that it wouldn't, he could see now that it had changed Elle, too. It was inevitable. There was no innocence in the world that they lived in.

Danny's jaw clenched and he looked away from her. His eyes traced the luminescent glow of the twin moons. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything," she said. "Starting from the beginning."

There was a moment of silence in which Danny collected his thoughts. Then he nodded in resignation and told her.

**.**

**.**

_There is fire as Danny materializes through the portal. He turns and looks behind him. There, he sees his father and sister standing amongst the other yeti, their image flickering and warped through the rippling surface of the portal's energy. He almost wants to step back in, return home, but instead he swallows his fear. The humming of his core falters as the portal dissipates. _

_Danny floats intangibly amongst the debris of gnarled buildings and roadways. Fire, smoke, and the stinking odor of burnt flesh are pungent in his nose. Rotting human corpses are strewn haphazardly about. His eyes linger on them only briefly before he continues on. He tucks the Infi-Map his father had given to him into his coat pocket, his eyes hardening with resolution. He has a job to do. _

_The skyline of Amity Park appears before him, and he presses onward. The outside towns that enfold in either direction are beyond help. Everywhere he looks, he sees destruction and chaos. Looking upward, he notices that the sky is an ectoplasmic green, rather than the blue he had always dreamt about. _

_As he enters the borderline of city, he is immediately greeted by the visage of angry humans. _

_Danny balks and ascends higher into the air. He cloaks himself further by drifting into the Middle, ignoring the translucent bodies of unformed souls as they slither through the air around him. He can now easily differentiate between the humans through the color of their auras, though his nose wrinkles with distaste as he smells their fear and desperation. Unlike the other ghosts, Danny has never taken a liking to human fear. _

_The humans are arguing, but about what he isn't sure. Their auras are flickering, an ever changing mass of color that is tinged with the malodorous scents of their emotions. Danny watches them curiously. Aside from the Whitecoats, he has never seen humans before. He knows he should hate them, but he has already noticed that the clothing of these humans is black, which he ponders with confusion. _

_In his is realm, clothing is harvested from the great wondering Yakks that are native to the icy plateaus surrounding Ec'Nelis. All yeti, he and his sister included, bear clothing of these great beasts. The soft whites and deep blues of the creatures' furs are a symbol of unity within the yeti society. Perhaps the reason for the difference in coloration of these humans signifies a variance from the Whitecoats? He finds himself floating closer._

_His father had warned him that the humans have ways of identifying ghosts by their ectosignatures, so Danny is relieved when they do not seem to sense him at all. Their true forms are hazy as he watches them through the film that separates him from physical existence, but as he nears they become silhouetted by the intensity of their fear. The sharp cinnamon taste of anger is there, too. _

_The humans' voices are pitched, grating against his sensitive years. They are hollering at each other. Other male humans form a semicircle around the louder ones, but they do not seem to be watching the argument unfold at all. Instead they are staring into the vast sea of destruction around them. One of them, Danny notices, is shaking. The terrified man's fingers clutch at the strange item in his hands. _

_Just then, Danny's hyperactive senses are sent into overdrive. _

_They come out nowhere. Danny recoils as he takes in their numbers. There are easily hundreds of them—if not thousands—as they come seeping out of the clouded mass of smoke and debris. The familiar chill of his ghostsense rolls off his tongue repetitively as the specters assemble around the humans. They are simple ghosts, and should hardly be able to stabilize themselves in the ecto-deficient environment, yet they filter effortlessly, as if their cores are limitless. _

_Unsure of what to do, Danny watches cagily. He notices when some of the ghosts sense him, though they do not act upon their discovery. They simply float, their translucent bodies rippling, as if they are awaiting something akin to a command. The humans do not notice._

"_This world is goin' to fucking hell, John!" one of the angry men screams. "And those fucking rats left us here. Said there ain't no more room for us. Those fucking _pigs!"

"_Well what the hell do you want me to do!" the other man, John, hollers back. "We need to get the fuck outta here before those _spooks _come after us too. Before they rip us apart, just like they did your wife and daughter. Is that what you want? Do you want us all to die now, you callous _fuck!?"

_The first man laughs. It is the bitterest laugh Danny has ever heard. "You really think we're gonna walk away from this? We're already _dead_! The fuckhead ghost, Pariah Dark, destroyed the shields. Amity Park is fuckin' _gone_, and you really think we're actually going to _walk away?" _Another laugh. "You're fucking diluted, Sean."_

"_You know what? I think you should keep your fucking voice down." _

"_And I think you should kiss my hairy a—" _

_Danny watches as Sean raises the object in his hand, pointing it at John. It is then that Danny makes the connection that it is a weapon. _

_The revelation causes a knot to form in his stomach. He wants to react, to do something, but before he even has a chance the world around him shatters. The sound alone sends him reeling, and he shies away from the humans, clutching at his ears. As he turns, he watches what was once John's face as it explodes and hemorrhages, dark grey matter and splinters of bone accentuating the dark river of the man's blood. _

_There is a split second of time in which the headless corpse remains standing, grossly suspended by whatever life force still remains in the man's body. Then, right as John's dimming aura flickers from the dark red of anger into the yellows and greens of desperation and fear, the corpse falls to its knees, to its stomach, and finally goes still. _

"_What the fuck, Sean?" one of the men from the semicircle says. "What the _fuck_?"_

_Danny cringes when Sean shoots that man, too. He raises his weapon to the other humans, swinging it from man to man. _

"_Anybody else?" Sean screams. "Anyone fucking else wanna cross me? I ain't fucking dying here like this, not now, not because of any of you sorry ass _fucks_!" _

_Sean's once angry aura is now a dark, dark green. Pure terror. He spins and shoots another, for no reason other than the man had tripped backing away from him. This is when Danny decides that enough is enough. _

_They sense him immediately. He can tell because they all spin to face him as he materializes. Pushing through the seam of physical existence, Danny is immediately onslaught by the amplification of their emotions, no longer dulled by the Middle's influence. Their fear quickly morphs into an integral sense of self-preservation, a burning need to destroy him and run. It halts him momentarily, as he has never been around humans long enough to experience such sentimental force._

_They fire in unison, but Danny recovers quickly enough to become intangible. He ignores the throb at his temples as his body reacts to their dread. The humans are screaming now, firing freely. New, smaller weapons are pulled from their belts. These ones release strong ectoplasmic charges. _

_It takes Danny a half a second to realize that the humans are no longer firing at him, but at the horde of apparitions that have suddenly descended on them like a shroud of death. The supposedly weak and insignificant ghosts are apathetic, a massive conglomeration of teeth and somehow powerfully charged cores that begin tearing senselessly into the humans. _

"_No!" Danny screams, though he isn't sure why. Even these black-suited humans have demonstrated a monstrosity similar to the Whitecoats. He shouldn't care about them. His job is to rescue those of his own kind not yet taken by Pariah Dark's influence, to lead them through natural portals and to his home realm where they would be safe. _

_But he can't turn away from them—he just can't. It isn't _right_. _

_Danny's form solidifies once more and he begins firing at the ghosts. The apparitions' cores are abnormally strong, but Danny's core is still much stronger. He obliterates them, one by one. His cries of frustration mingle with the dying wails of the human men. But it is no use. There are too many. His shoulder stings where one of the humans suddenly discharges a weapon on _him.

_In the end, the humans are swallowed by the horde, and Danny knows there is nothing more for them that he can do. So he flees. Tears streak down his cheeks but he makes no move to brush them away. His shoulder throbs painfully. _

_He spends the next couple of days this way: witnessing senseless acts of aggression. He watches more and more humans die. He does not come across a single friendly ghost. _

_Just when Danny thinks that things can't be any shittier, the universe, which holds a perpetual hated for him, proves that things will always get much, much worse. _

_**.**_

_**.**_

Danny's voice trailed off. He screwed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. "There's more, Elle, but . . . I—I'll tell you the rest some other time."

"I always knew humans were monsters," Elle said darkly, "but to turn on their own kind? That's just despicable. And to think we're housing one right now and treating it like it's some kind of war refugee, the _monster_."

Danny turned and looked at her sharply. "I told you there's more," he said, nonplussed by her attitude. "And _don't _talk about Sam that way. You don't even _know _her!"

Elle went livid. "And neither do you! I don't understand why you don't keep defending it. It would kill you if it could, Danny, why can't you _see _that?!"

"Sam's different. You heard what Dad said," Danny snapped, crossing his arms.

"Dad is _desperate_, Danny! We all are!" Elle shouted at him, but then deflated instantly. Her flaming eyes dampened with sorrow. "You haven't been here. You don't know how it's been. Dad doesn't think we can go on much longer. He's scared. When have you _ever _seen him scared?"

Danny was able to instantly conjure a moment when he'd seen their father scared, but he knew enough not to mention it. Images of Elle, torn apart and soaked with her own ectoplasmic blood, flashed to the forefront of his mind. He shook them away.

"Look," Danny said in a softer tone, "there is more to the story, and there is more to the humans. They can be good too, Elle, I promise. I've _seen _it."

"In who?" Elle questioned. "Sam?"

Danny thought briefly about how to respond to that, and then nodded. "Yeah," he said lamely. "In Sam."

"This makes absolutely no sense, you know that, right?"

He couldn't help but smile at that. With his elbow, he leaned over and nudged her shoulder. "C'mon, we should probably head home before one of Dad's hearts explodes."

Danny spun in midair, ready to return home, but Elle caught him off guard when she said, "By the way, Danny, I couldn't help but notice that for a human, Sam's really not that bad looking."

Her admission startled him enough to actually cause him to lose his concentration on his power core and he dropped a little bit, sputtering when caught himself. He looked at her, confused. What was she getting at? "Okayyy, and your point is?"

Elle's eyes were narrowed and calculative. "Do you think I'm dumb? I mean, we _look _like it—her. Like them."

"Yeah, still really not sure where you're going with this."

"You haven't shown any interest in a ghost since Ember."

Suddenly, everything clicked into place.

Danny's eyes widened and he instantly felt the green heat as it flooded to his cheeks. "_Elle_!" he exclaimed, admonishing her. "I do not have an interest in _Sam. W_e're not even the same species, let alone within the same state of living!"

Elle looked at him sideways, but the narrowed-eyed set of her gaze remained unceasing. "That's a lame excuse considering we're not exactly ghosts, either, idiot."

He glared at her through his blush. "Even still, why would that mean I'd suddenly have interest for a _human?_"

"I don't know," Elle said, with a flick of her long braid over her shoulder, "you tell me. You're the one defending her."

When Danny didn't immediately respond, Elle took this as her own small form of victory, albeit a very small one. "Look," she said softly, "I'm not saying you love the girl, but she's decent looking, looks to be around our age, and is literally the only creature I have ever met that looks similar to us. We look human, so I get it. I do. But I swear to the Ancients and to Clockwork himself, if something happens and she hurts you"—her eyes flashed murderously—"I will_ rip_. Her. Apart."

Tension was thick between the two phantoms as they each glared the other down. But for once, Danny was the first one to shatter it. He shook his head incredulously, then said, "You are seriously one screwed up individual, you know that?"

Elle smiled sweetly in response.

**.**

**xXx**

**.**

Sam sat twirling her fork into her plate of greens while Frostbite, Frostbreath, and Tsuel chatted animatedly to each other about their day. It was just the four of them this time, or at least it was until Phantom and Elle abruptly barreled into the room, both of them falling heavily onto the bench on the other side of the table. Elle wasted no time. She dug viciously into a plate of pink meat, her eyes meeting Sam's once, before looking away.

Sam continued to stir and occasionally munch at her food. All the while, she couldn't help but sneak glimpses at the odd pair of ghosts—or whatever the hell they were—across from her. They seemed strange tonight. Phantom was edgy and flustered. For some reason, he kept shooting frequent and mildly perturbed glances at her, as if her presence at the table was not a habitual occurrence (which, for the past seven weeks, it had been).

It was around the sixth glance in her direction that she finally snapped. "What is your _problem?" _

From across the table, Phantom's eyes flickered away from hers once, twice, then finally settled and met her gaze. "What?" he responded, feigning ignorance with the high set of his eyebrows.

Sam could feel the four onlookers as they watched on, but she ignored them. "Why do you keep looking at me like that?"

"Like what? I'm not looking at you in any way."

"Yes you are, so stop it."

"I told you I'm not—"

They were cut off when Frostbite let out a cough that was anything but subtle.

Not wanting to be the cause of Frostbite's lecture about the importance of dining ethics, Sam resumed their argument in the form of an icy glare. She seethed at him with as much force as she could muster. With every bite she took, she chewed slowly and deliberately, enhancing the mercilessness of her venomous stare. What confused her though was that Phantom never once reciprocated. Instead, when he looked at her, he bore the same wide-eyed expression he'd given her earlier. This happened for a few moments before Phantom brusquely stood, excusing himself from the table completely.

"My, my," Tsuel said as he disappeared through the entryway, "what has gotten into him?"

Elle shrugged. "Who knows?" she trilled dryly. "He's a boy. Boys are stupid."

From the head of the table, Sam watched Frostbite smile. "That's my girl." He ruffled Elle's hair. "Keep saying that, would you?"

**.**

**.**

It was late, later than usual, when Tsuel led Sam back to her room. The pair walked quietly, but the silence was comfortable. They had just rounded a corner, when, seemingly out of nowhere, Phantom fell into step beside them at Tsuel's other shoulder.

"Danny!" Tsuel exclaimed, jumping a bit at the suddenness of his appearance. Her clawed hand flew to her chest. "How many times have I told you _not to do that!?_"

Phantom's smile was contrite. "Heh, sorry," he said. "Why don't you go home, Tsuel? I can take it from here."

Tsuel's brow lifted. "It is no problem to me, Danny," she said. "I quite enjoy the company of Sam." She turned and smiled at the girl in question, her tawny eyes dancing with fondness. Reaching over, she squeezed Sam's shoulder, which caused Sam to blush.

Phantom's eyes flickered from Tsuel to Sam, lingering briefly, before returning to the yeti. "I insist," he said. "It's late. Plus Dad wants me to talk to her about something important."

Tsuel's eyes narrowed. "Something so important that it needs to be said right now at this hour? Let me remind you that I raised you, Danny, and I am quite adept at ascertaining when you are trying to pull the wool over my eyes." Despite what she said, however, she stopped mid-step, ignoring his green flush of embarrassment. "But, fine, if there is something you would like to speak to our dear Sam about, I will leave you to it. Goodnight, Danny. Sam." And then she was gone, disappearing around the bend of the corridor.

Phantom watched her leave. His eyes lingered where the yeti had disappeared, a bit longer than necessary. He shifted uncomfortably under the instant re-arrival of Sam's glare.

Finally, after a long and awkward silence, he said, "Hey."

Sam crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes.

"How . . . are things?"

She arched an eyebrow. He sighed.

"C'mon," he murmured, beginning to walk into the direction of her room. "It's late. let's get you back, hm?"

Sam's scowl remained unceasing, but she began following him anyway. What the hell did _he _want? He'd barely spoken more than three sentences to her in the past few weeks she'd been here. Her steel toed boots stomped unnecessarily hard on the stony floor.

"Look, Sam," he began as they walked under one of the suspended archways. "I just wanted to apologize for the way things've happened."

She eyed him with confusion. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Well, y'know," he said, gesturing lamely about the corridor as they walked. "All of this. I know it's not exactly the most ideal situation."

"If you're apologizing for me being here, you're a _little _late for that."

He coughed out a laugh, trying in vain to relieve some of the tension. "Yeah. Right. I knew that."

The rest of their walk was silent and increasingly awkward. Sam shook her head disbelievingly at him as he walked with his back to her, a few steps ahead. She couldn't help it when her eyes trailed along his outwardly human form. With her week old conversation with Tsuel still fresh in her mind, she found herself unable to resist contemplating his existence. He was maddeningly impossible to decipher. It was driving her nuts!

As she watched him, though, she found it harder and harder to believe that _this _was the same Phantom she'd met in Amity. Where he had once been confident and menacing, he was now awkward and shy, tripping over nothing as he walked along the ice-encrusted floors of the mountain castle. During their first meeting, he had been intimidating, exhibiting an insane amount of strength and power, but now? Sam wanted to laugh. It was almost too radical for her to believe anymore.

_Then again, _Sam reminded herself, _this _is _still_ _the same ghost that fried my gear. _There was no disguising that feat, no matter how strange Phantom acted. As Maddie had once told her, ghosts were adept at deception, at twisting the minds of humans. His constant alterations of his demeanor could easily be his way to outmaneuver her. Tsuel, she trusted. Frostbite, she grudgingly accepted as authority. But Phantom? Sam's frown twisted into something nasty. Phantom could never be trusted, because no matter how strange, he was still a _ghost, _and she would sooner die by her own hand than trust him.

After what seemed like an eternity of walking, they came upon Sam's room. She stormed inside without once looking over her shoulder.

Phantom hovered uncomfortably in the threshold, watching as she scrambled together what was left of her fire.

"So . . .," he began in a conversational voice, "do you like the room?"

Sam ignored him.

"It's probably better than that other one, right? Less icy, and stuff."

Silence.

"Did Tsuel tell you that this is the room that Elle and I grew up in?"

This . . . caused Sam to pause. She looked over her shoulder, watching Phantom's ethereal eyes as they traced unseen patterns along the masonry of her ceiling.

"She may have mentioned it," Sam responded, assuming nonchalance. She shrugged her shoulders. "Why?"

Phantom shook his head. He pointed high, towards the arched center of her ceiling. Sam's eyes followed the direction of his hand, and she frowned in confusion. Her room was stone, not ice, so it was lit with torches instead of an ice-spider. There was nothing that she could see where he was pointing.

"Sometime, if you're ever up to it," Phantom said, "warm the room with fire and then draw the fire skins. The absence of light may surprise you."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, sure. I'll get righton that." She glared at him again. "Now can I _help _you with something? I'm perfectly capable of building a fire without supervision."

Phantom held her gaze for a moment longer, before he sighed. "No, I'll go," he said, backing away from the entryway. "Goodnight, Sam."

Long after Phantom had left and Sam had sufficiently warmed the room with fire, she eyed the ceiling inquisitively. She was curious, like a cat to a closed door. As much as she wanted to ignore Phantom's suggestion, she found that the urge to _know_ was quickly overcoming her petulance.

"Damn it," Sam muttered to herself. She lurched from where she had been sitting on her bed, reaching for the concealing curtain that was draped unused against the frame of her fireplace. "If this thing catches on fire and burns me, I will _destroy _him."

She wasn't too surprised when the skins remained intact. They were probably made out of a fire retardant material. No, what _was _surprising was the change that overcame her room once the last tendrils of light faded away and was overcome by sheer darkness.

They appeared, one by one, from her memory. There were thousands of them. Sam couldn't believe it. When was the last time she had seen them? When she was a child? Must've been, because that was before the once-blue sky of her human world had been completely overcome by the ectoplasmic infiltration. Seeing them now in such a way was surreal. Her jaw dropped as she spun, her eyes never once leaving the vast sea of stars above her.

There were constellations—the big dipper, the belt of Orion, Gemini, and more—along with the bigger, brighter spheres of light that must represent the solar system. It was amazing, and even though she knew that they weren't real, she couldn't help but recall the lazy nights she'd spent under the stars when she was little. The memories came flooding from some deep recess of her mind, and she fell to her knees, unable to shake away the reminiscent tears that stained her cheeks.

The nighttime sky of the human realm glimmered above her for the rest of the night.

* * *

**A/N:** This chapter. _This f'ing chapter. _I just. I don't . . . somebody, please shoot me. Haha. I really don't know what happened with this one. Things just . . . wrote themselves. Hello, new conversational subplot between Danny and Elle! Welcome!

In all seriousness though, I would like to remind each and every one of my readers that _Epíphantos _is my experimentation fic. Both it and its imminent sequel are my warm up/introductory fics to Fan Fiction. I have never written anything longer than a single chapter before, so pardon my obvious attempts at trying new things. Especially in regards to the formatting, things will not always be perfectly consistent like they might be in other stories. For that, I am sorry.

I hope you guys like this one. I had fun writing it. I don't see this story being longer than twenty-something chapters, so things will start to really pick up now. I don't want to drag this story on and make it unnecessarily dry, so there will be some significant passages of time from here on out until the end.

Also, one last thing, some of you has expressed your concerns about Danny's halfa status. I would like everyone reading this to keep in mind that while this is an AU, I am keeping the core of the show relatively canon. With that said, I would appreciate your patience. Things are as they are for a reason. With time, secrets will be revealed, and yada, yada, yada. You get the point.

Let me know what you guys think! Thank you so much for your continued support! I love you all. I respond to all my reviewers, so please, don't be afraid to drop a few words! I am anxious to know what everyone thinks so far. Next chapter shouldn't take so long. The RL has been killer.


	10. The Greenest Green

**Warning. This chapter contains brief language. Proceed with caution. **

_In the light and alive._

* * *

**Epíphantos**

**Chapter Ten:**

_**The Greenest Green **_

* * *

When Sam woke, the floor was shaking.

H er hands became claws as they fisted in her furry blankets. Even from her room, she could hear the deep thunder of explosions. She forced herself to breath. Deep breaths—_in, and out. In, and out. Don't think about it. Don't freak out, don't freak out, don't . . ._

It _was _getting easier to handle. Each and every time her world rocked and the incessant roaring of war pounded in her ears, she'd make a point to stay in her bed. Wait it out, and listen. Distract herself by staring into the illusion of twinkling stars at her ceiling. Ignore when they flickered into transparency as a powerful blast hit the mountain castle. She knew it was pathetic. Warriors were supposed to be fearless. _She_ was supposed to be fearless.

But she wasn't. She knew that now.

Sam closed her eyes and brought her hands to her chest. She waited.

Nearly an hour later, all was quiet, and it was then that Sam knew the attack was over. She grimaced as she lay there. From past experience she knew how the rest of her day would go. Frostbite's near-perpetual optimism would dissipate into somberness, as would Tsuel's. The whole town of Ec'Nelis would be in a state of ruin, and the yeti community would work in unison to restore it. They would leave Sam in the dark as they always did, refusing to tell her anything. She had it down to a science.

Sighing, Sam untangled herself from the furs of her cot. Her stomach twisted in hunger. Tsuel was usually at her door in the late morning hours, and from what Sam could tell by use of her biological clock (her actual watch remained in her confiscated pack), it was well past afternoon. She frowned as she pulled on her boots, slipped the coat over her head. And she waited some more.

The past few weeks had been uneventful, to say the least. More instruction from Frostbite, more walks with Tsuel, the same lack of conviction from the general population. No matter where she walked, suspicious eyes trailed after her. Children scattered like wildfire. They didn't _hate _her, per se, they just didn't _trust _her. She was an outsider.

Oddly enough, the only noteworthy change to her life in recent weeks was the development of her already bizarre dynamic with Phantom. Glances were now frequently swapped between them, and at the strangest of times, too.

It happened during dinner, when she was out in town, even as they passed each other in the hallways. Their eyes would catch, and then flit away. There were times when Sam would be randomly compelled to look somewhere, only to find him watching her, and vice versa. It had started after their conversation in Sam's designated room, nearly a month ago now, when he'd first told her about the starry illusion. And yet, aside from the socially obligatory small talk at dinner every night, they hadn't actually spoken to each other since. It was weird.

Sam jumped when the icy wall separating her from freedom began disintegrating with a hiss, revealing a disheartened-looking Tsuel. Sam's stomach rumbled again. _Finally. _

"Hey," she called, jumping with eager haste from her cot to meet Tsuel at the entryway. Her pace slowed when she noticed the yeti's grim expression. "Everything alright?"

Tsuel attempted to smile only for it to fall flat. "Hello, Sam dear. I am sorry it took me so long to come to you. This morning was rather"—her expression darkened—"unpleasant."

Sam frowned. The two of them began walking in their usual destination, towards the kitchen. Their footsteps echoed along the winding corridors.

"Are you . . . okay?" Sam asked, hesitating only slightly. "I mean, you don't have to tell me anything, but—"

"I just don't understand it!" Tsuel barked, and her clawed hands splayed high as she walked. "Why can't they leave us alone?!" A humorless laugh bubbled up from her chest. "I am so tired, Sam, _so_ tired. I am not sure I can take this any longer. I can't!"

Sam's jaw worked wordlessly. She had no idea what to say. The Warrior in her demanded she make use of the yeti's turmoil and snatch what information she could, but . . . Sam just couldn't bring herself to do it. Not anymore. The last thing she wanted was to upset her friend any more than she already was. She instead reached out her hand and placed it on Tsuel's silky shoulder, consoling her.

Tsuel leaned into Sam's touch, and a large, warm paw enveloped her hand. "Thank you, dear," Tsuel said. "I am sorry to encumbrance you with my troubles. You are good cub." Her muzzle curved and softened at the corners. It was the first real smile Sam had seen from her yet. "I wish the others could see you as I have."

Sam's eyes widened at the unexpected praise. She flushed, unsure of what to say. If it was one thing that made her uncomfortable it was a compliment.

Fortunately for her, they had reached their destination so she was saved from the perils of an eloquent response. She ducked inside the kitchen while Tsuel continued further on towards Frostbite's study, just a little ways down the corridor.

The sight Sam faced upon entering stopped her dead in her tracks.

His back was to her, lean muscles straining through his white tunic as he reached high for something on the shelves. But Sam's eyes were not on his form, but the glaring green marks that stained his tattered clothing. Where the loose sleeve of his reaching arm plunged, she could see angry marks on his forearm. An even more daunting series of wounds lacerated across his back, visible through the shredded material. Multiple droplets of ectoplasm shimmered along the floor.

She knew that he sensed her presence, because she watched as he went rigid and then slowly turned to meet her wide-eyed stare.

"What happened to you?" she whispered, unmoving in the entryway. One arm was poised at the threshold, a foot extended in mid-step. She had no idea what to do.

The tension was almost palpable while Phantom stared back at her, seemingly frozen to the spot. She took advantage of his state and allowed her eyes to roam once more. He looked like absolute hell; cut up and bruised, ectoplasmic stains marring his clothing. His eyes were haunted.

Finally, Phantom seemed to notice that she was blatantly staring at him, awaiting his response. Green eyes narrowed as he turned away from her. "Go away, Sam. I'm not in the mood to be ridiculed by you right now."

She was affronted. "Who said I'm here to ridicule you?"

"Oh I don't know," he muttered. "Past experience, maybe?"

Sam's white hot temper spiked. How dare he speak to her like that when she was only acting concerned! She stepped angrily into the room, ready to unleash a vicious bout of verbal lashing when something stopped her dead. The balled fist she didn't know she'd made fell limp at her side.

Phantom was hurt, _badly. _He leaned his weight on shaking arms against the countertop, the empty cup from the shelf unused and clenched tight in his hand. Green ectoplasm pooled beneath his bare forearm, dark and congealing as its tendrils seeped along the counter, to the edge, and dripped to the floor. She could see how tensed his jaw was from the gritting of his teeth.

Without even realizing what she was doing, Sam stepped further into the kitchen, leaving her anger to simmer in a shroud behind her. She'd sworn him as her enemy, yet some unseen force propelled her forward anyway, and despite her rough exterior, Sam was compassionate at heart. This glowing, green-eyed creature before her was a creature in _pain_. She thought nothing of his ghostliness as she made her way towards him and placed a gentle hand on his arm, tugged it closer for her inspection.

Phantom's firm arm lurched in her hand as he jumped, surprised by the contact. But Sam barely noticed. With a light touch, her fingers drifted along the lines of sinewy muscle in survey of his injuries. His skin was cold and pliable beneath her fingertips, and she paused at the shadowed crook of his arm where the faint thrumming of his ghostly core trembled with life. Everywhere she looked, she saw what appeared to be bite wounds; they peppered his arm and tore angrily at his flesh.

For some reason, she thought he'd be colder than he actually was, that his skin wouldn't be so stable, so real, so _human_. He didn't feel like a ghost at all.

It was when Sam's wandering fingers trailed into the greenness of ectoplasm that she realized what was happening. She was touching him. Willingly _touching_ _him_. Her hands dropped from his arm as if it burned her, when in reality it had done anything but. When had they gotten so close? She didn't remember. Realization shuddered in the pit of her stomach, causing her to take several quick steps away from him with her heart thundering in her chest.

Phantom's arm remained suspended in midair as if she was still holding it. He stared at her, utterly bewildered.

Sam didn't know what to say to him. She remained shock still, ignoring the heat that darkened her cheeks and burned her ears. Why had she done that? He was a ghost—_her enemy_.Her fingers curled, nails digging into her palms. She realized with distaste that they were slightly slick. With ectoplasm. _Phantom's_ ectoplasm.

God, could she be anymore embarrassed?

"I . . . uh," Phantom began. He lowered his arm. "Why did—"

"Oh my stars!" Tsuel exclaimed out of nowhere, startling them both as she barreled past, brushing shoulders and, unbeknownst to her, pushing Sam aside in the process. "Danny, what in the name of all things Ancient are you _doing _in here! I thought I told you to see Sleetjaw right away!" Her paws fluttered, afraid to touch him. She settled for looping her thick arm around his shoulders in order to pull him roughly to her side.

Phantom's voice was muffled by Tsuel's fur as he mumbled, "Mff-fine, Tsuel, jus' ffirsty."

"No, you're not, Danny!" Tsuel was hysterical now. "Come one, we are going to Sleetjaw _post haste_!" She dragged him hastily out the door while unintelligible curses flowed from her grimaced maw. The small cup Phantom had been holding fell from his hand and clattered as it hit the floor.

Sam, with her back pressed against the adjacent counter, watched the chaos incredulously.

Only once they disappeared and sweet silence resumed, did Sam move from her perch, retrieving the cup from where it laid forgotten on the floor. The action was clumsy, a result of too much adrenaline bleeding into her nerves and settling there. She struggled, dropping the cup several times before seizing it with angry fingers. She couldn't make sense of herself. Why was she like this? And more importantly, why had she waltzed in and _touched _him like that? It was absurd!

Shaking her head, she admired the polished surface of the cup in her hand, and as she did an idea struck her. With eyes narrowed in thought, she went to the kitchen's chilled water basin and dunked the cup into the cool liquid to fill it. Then, after mindfully stepping over Phantom's trail of ectoplasm, she made her way to the medical bay.

.

.

Sam paused when she reached the aforementioned corridor, watching as shadows danced along with rainbows from an entryway further down. Muffled, argumentative voices emanated out into the hall. They abruptly ceased as she approached.

All was quiet, then: "Sam?" Frostbite's voice. "Is that you?"

Cold water sloshed over her hand, and her grip imperceptibly tightened on the cup she carried. She plastered on her most sheepish of smiles and ducked her head around the archway. "Yeah, it's me. Um." She stepped hesitantly into the medical room, raising the cup of water high for all to see. "I just brought Phhh—Danny—some water."

Seven pairs of eyes stared back at her. Frostbite and a ragged looking Elle were slumped on a bench; Frostbite's paw rhythmically stroked the top of his daughter's head. A gnarled and bloodied Icefang hovered close at Sam's left with eyes that seemed to bleed with mistrust, and so he scowled at her. Frostbreath stood by Tsuel, who was watching Sam with amber-eyed curiosity. Sleetjaw was busy healing Phantom . . .

Sam suddenly blanched. Where the hell was Phantom's shirt?

Had she been thinking rationally, she would have realized that wearing such clothing would be impractical for healing purposes. But Sam was feeling anything but rational at the moment as her eyes trailed along the scarred, yet muscular planes of his chest, and for what seemed like the millionth time that day, her cheeks flamed red. She averted her eyes and coughed as she crossed the invisible barrier into the room and offered the cup to an equally discomfited Phantom.

"Um, thanks, Sam," he mumbled, then winced as Sleetjaw's claws worked at an unseen injury on his back. "Ow!"

Sam's brows furrowed as she watched Sleetjaw work. He wielded a strange metal tool in his paw, but what it was though, she wasn't sure. It was oblong in shape, almost pencil-like, and metallurgical. With a turbulent hum, it welded together the massive wounds crisscrossing over Phantom's back, fusing the skin and leaving behind only faint, slightly puckered white scars. Sleetjaw skillfully maneuvered the thing with one paw, while his other paw dampened and cleaned residual ectoplasm away from the wounded areas.

"I thought you guys had healing powers?" Sam couldn't help but ask. She looked at the spot of her arm where it had fractured, as if expecting to see similar blemishes. Her skin remained unmarred.

"Why would you assume that?" Sleetjaw responded absently, never once turning his gaze away from the task at hand.

Sam's memories flashed. _Pain, and a frigid coldness that numbs her . . . vision swimming with darkness. Then she surges awake, sporting freshly healed injuries and a hazy incomprehension about what had transpired_. Her mouth thinned into a frown as she recalled the feeling of cold energy in her chest, the numbness of her limbs. "Then what did you do to _me_?"

Sleetjaw's eyes remain unfixed from hers. "I put you to sleep. After that, I was able to heal you."

"Put me . . . to sleep?" She didn't know whether or not to be offended. What the hell did that even mean?

Behind her, Sam heard the telltale sound of bench legs scraping against stone as Frostbite stood. She turned to look at him, just as he began walking towards her.

"As I have been explaining to you, Sam," Frostbite said, halting at her side. "The yeti are known for our scientific achievements, especially in the medical field. We are manipulators of ice, not healers." As if to punctuate this point, he gestured with a sweep of his massive arm about the room, no doubt in regards to the various technological monitors that flashed from every direction.

Sleetjaw nodded his large, angular head, frowning as Phantom hissed and winced under his claws. "Frostbite its correct. What I did to you was dramatically decrease your body temperature to a hypothermic state, thereby decreasing your heart rate." Finally, his eyes flickered to hers in brief acknowledgement. "You were in a . . . temporary coma, as it were. Mandatory in order to fix you."

Sam's gaze flickered between them. Then she scrunched her eyes shut and shook her head. "I should probably be really, really pissed off by that right now, but quite frankly I don't care. It's whatever." She turned and looked directly at Frostbite. "What I really care about is _what _keeps attacking you guys like this?"

Sam's answer was silence. From all of them.

"Oh, come on!" Sam exclaimed. "Why does everything have to be such a big secret around here?! What do you think I'm going to do? Suddenly pledge my allegiance to Pariah Dark himself? Whore myself out to him? Even if I could, did you forget that I'm kinda _stuck _here?" Her teeth were nearly bared from her anger. She pointed accusingly at Frostbite. "I deserve to know. No, I _demand _it!"

"Mind your place, insolent brat!" Sleetjaw hissed. White fangs gleamed at her from the curling of his lip.

Unwilling to be intimidated him, Sam glared at him and snapped, "Oh stuff it, asshole."

She didn't even flinch when he snarled in response and lunged at her.

Tsuel was in front of Sam in a blur of white with her massive canines flashing and ears pinned flat to her skull. Vehement growls ripped from her chest as she challenged Icefang, whom slid to a sudden stop to avoid impact with the smaller yeti.

"Alright, enough!" Frostbite boomed. He shoved a muscular arm into Icefang's chest, forcing the brute backwards and to his knees. Then, with a blood red glower that was purely _alpha_, he stared Icefang down until the latter shamefully averted his gaze.

Once the snarling ceased and Tsuel relaxed from her stance in front of Sam, Frostbite calmed himself by closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his muzzle with his claws. "I feel as if I am constantly dealing with children," he grumbled. He took a massive breath before his eyes finally opened and focused on Sam. Placing a paw on her shoulder, he said, "I understand why you want to be involved in our affairs, Sam, but now is not the ti—"

"Just tell her," Phantom said suddenly, surprising everyone. He shook his head and sipped at his water.

Frostbite looked at Phantom, mildly annoyed by his son's outburst. "It is not ethical to involve non—"

"If she's living here, she should know. It's not like it's really that big of a secret."

"I agree with Danny, Frostbite," Tsuel said. "Sam is as big a part of this now as we are, maybe even more so. She needs to know what threatens both our worlds. Please, Frostbite."

There was an intense bout of silence as all eyes remained focused on Frostbite. Wisps of frozen air trailed along his muzzle as he sighed in thought, meeting the eyes of everyone in the room, before settling on Sam's. Blood red mingled with lavender. Then he said, "Fine."

"You can't be serious, Frostbite," Icefang growled. "She is not one of us." He gestured a bloody paw towards Sam. "She is _human." _

Sam glared at him. "What is your problem with me? I've done _nothing _to you!"

"Nothing?" Icefang laughed. "Nothing! It was humans who stated this war in the first place!" His voice rose in anger, bellowed so loud that Sam flinched the sheer force of it. "I have lost _everything_!"

For the first time, Sam was able to past the veil of Icefang's hatred. She saw in him what she could never have seen before now as it bled from the deepest recesses of his character. Her eyes widened again as she noticed the incandescent tears that clumped the fur around his eyes, glistening as they froze to his cheeks. His whole body seemed to slump forward as emotional turmoil ravaged him mad. Sam couldn't believe it. He had always seemed so angry, so single-minded before, but now . . .?

Icefang's glassy-eyed gaze landed on Sam like a bag of bricks. His voice broke as he said, "I lost my family to this war. My mate, my cub, _everything. _Because of humans. I can never forget that." His eyes solidified into a revised anger as they flicked to Frostbite, large paws curling into tight fists at his sides. "And you." Spittle flew from between his teeth in a hiss. "Have you forgotten what they have done to your own daughter?"

Tension as thick as smog settled over the room. Sam's gaze was drawn to Danielle, who stood abruptly from her seat with her hands cupped around her neck. Tsuel reacted immediately, enveloping the girl in her arms while her eyes glared daggers at Icefang.

"I think it would be best if you took the rest of the day off," Frostbite said with a deadly calmness. "You know more than anyone why we _do not bring that up_."

"Why not? If you tell the human one of your secrets, you may as well tell it a—!"

"GET OUT!" Frostbite charged with his jaws snapping. He chased Icefang out of the room and then stood with hackles raised at the entryway until the other beast was long gone from the corridor. All the while, light, breathy sobs whispered from the fur of Tsuel's chest, right where her arms enfolded around Elle.

Sam watched Tsuel rub consoling circles into Elle's back, whispering gentle nothings into her hair. Suddenly uncomfortable, Sam's eyes trailed and landed on the widened green gaze of Phantom. He shook his head at her before slipping his ruined shirt over his head.

"I had no idea . . .," Sam murmured. Dark flyaways of hair danced along the edges of her vision and she swatted them away. "So that's why he's so . . ."

"Icefang is a good yeti," Frostbite said without turning around. "But he has experienced great pain, as have many of us." He looked at her over his shoulder, his expression grim. With a flash of his icy arm, he beckoned her forward. "Come, it is time for us to speak openly with one and other, but I do not wish to have this conversation here."

With one last look at Tsuel and Elle, as well as an acknowledging nod to Frostbtreath, Sam followed Frostbite out of the room.

"Hold on," a voice behind her said. Sam looked over her shoulder to see Phantom sliding off of the medical table. "I'm coming too."

.

.

The room was still cold, just beginning to warm with the popping and crackling of fire. Sam leaned into the warmth, unable to resist basking in it as it restored feeling to her chilled skin. Across from her, Phantom's elbows were on his knees in a chair next to his gargantuan father, face buried in gloved hands. Sam couldn't help but notice the dark shadows that danced along the planes of his cheeks, the light of orange flames intermingled with the whites of his hair. His ghostly aura appeared subdued in contrast to the fire, and it made him seem all the more human. She realized with a start that he looked _good_ in firelight.

More than a little disturbed, Sam just as quickly shook those thoughts away.

She redirected her gaze to Frostbite. "Did humans really start the war?"

Frostbite's eyes flashed closed as he inhaled a deep breath of air. "No," he said, "the yeti are as much a fault of this as humans are. All of the Infinite Realms, in fact, are to blame."

Sam's brows pinched. "What does that mean?"

"I did not wish to have this conversation so prematurely, as you have much to learn yet about the way our world functions," he said. Sam watched in amazement as he conjured a sphere of cold blue energy at the tips of his claws, undulating and spinning along the contours of his icy paw. "Our world is a matrix of alternate dimensions and realities, each more strange and different than the last. We share a quan—"

"_A quantum mechanical link that influences the evolution of the Multiverse_," Sam stated, her voice monotone. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get that. But _what _does that _mean?"_

"Ah, so you do listen." Frostbite smiled.

Just then, the rippling sphere in Frostbite's paw swelled. Cerulean tendrils curled away from the center, twisted high to form intricate shapes that branched off in various directions. The energy crawled in ascent until it formed a full circle around the glowing center, then solidified into ice. The whole thing remained suspended in midair around Frostbite's paw due to the raw energy still surging within its center, almost like a beating heart.

It was beautiful; a work of art, really. Sam's fingers twitched in her lap. She resisted the urge to reach out and touch the gleaming arcs of ice. Even Phantom's eyes peeked over his barrier of hands, equally entranced by his father's work. Their eyes flicked, drawn together for only an instant, but it was long enough for him to see her slight smile.

"It's a bit rudimentary, but this is the diagram of the Multiverse," Frostbite said. He lifted his paw higher so light from the center refracted along each icy tendril. The entire room danced with pools of white and blue. With his free paw, he pointed to the bright blue-white center. "This, Sam, is your realm, the material world. It is what stabilizes the entire Multiverse, maintains our dynamic equilibrium."

Then Frostbite's pointer paw drifted to the outermost layer, a thick band of swirls and shapes. Sam noticed then that it was this layer that lacked any sort of conformity. It was the most random, chaotic almost, considering the elegance and uniformity of the others. It was also the largest. "And this," Frostbite continued, "is the realm of the spirits, the dead, the—"

"_Ghosts_," Sam finished, her voice a mere whisper.

"Yes, the ghosts," Frostbite agreed. "Energy is constantly being recycled back and forth between each of our realms, and the Outerlands, where the ghosts live. Ghosts themselves are merely manifestations of intense emotion and reminiscence . . ."

At this, Sam couldn't resist glancing at Phantom. At the same time, his eyes met hers. He seemed to know exactly what she was thinking because he abruptly straightened in his chair and glared at her, a single white brow arched in challenge. The snowy glow of his aura appeared to flicker as he crossed his arms. He was daring her—daring her to ask that question floating dangerously at her lips.

" . . .sometimes, some of that energy is strong enough to form the necessary synapses to create synthetic bodies, which are in this case made out of pure ectoplasm. The stabilization comes from the strength of will and emotional or materialistic obsession needed to . . ."

She wanted to ask. Oh, how she wanted to. But Sam was smart, and she now knew better. Her gaze once again edged away from Frostbite, and met Phantom's. The firelight danced along his cheeks and left dark shadows in the hollows around his eyes. For the first time since waking up in this world of ice, Sam was seeing the Phantom she'd met those long few months ago. Phantom, the reclusive, _dangerous _ghost who before Sam's encounter had never been seen up close.

"Sam, are you listening?"

Sam jumped at the sound of her name. "Huh, what?"

Frostbite huffed and narrowed his eyes at her. One of them even twitched.

"I'm sorry, Frostbite," Sam said. She tried to her best to ignore Phantom's unceasing gaze from her peripheral, but for some reason, his blurred sideways form was the only thing her mind would focus on. "I'm just trying to figure out what this has to do with . . . the attacks."

Frostbite frowned as his icy diagram disintegrated into the energy still swirling in his palm, and then fizzled out completely. "You remind me of my children," he grumbled, though he placed an arm fondly around Phantom's shoulders. "Always wanting to know the answers, never the roads between."

Phantom grimaced and shrugged the yeti's arm free. "Dad," he whined, "quit it."

The yeti's characteristic mirth returned as he smiled and laughed, revealing a wall of shiny white teeth.

"My father enjoys reveling in the emotional distress of others, didn't you know?" Phantom said dryly to Sam, his face deadpan. "Apparently it's _funny_."

"It is when it's you," Sam said without thinking, causing Frostbite to bark with laughter once again.

"I see how it is. Ganging up the ghost kid. Real mature."

"Hah," Sam laughed, "as if _you're _a kid."

It was the wrong thing to say. Sam realized it the moment the damning words sailed from her lips.

"Oh _really_," Phantom drawled. Sam watched in horror as something new and terrible glinted in his eyes, caused his grin to stretch at a single corner, leaving it lopsided. "What would _you_ call me then?"

_Not good, not good, not good. _Was her face as red as it was burning?

Sam did the best thing she could think to do. She counterattacked.

"Oh, silly me," she said with a flippant wave of her hand, "I thought we were talking about mental capabilities, because if anything, you're more of a toddler. Never mind then."

It was a poorly disguised attempt to dig her way out of the proverbial hole she'd buried herself in, and she knew it. She knew _he _knew it too. He leaned back in his chair with that same absurd grin, brows drawn low while firelight played with the shadows across his face. Sam wanted to look away, but that would be letting him _win. _Her heart trilled nervously from her ribcage as she realized just how unfitting the term 'kid' really was in his regard. She remembered the feeling of lean muscles sprawling beneath her fingertips, and her hand began to tingle, just as it had done then.

The spell ended as Frostbite cleared his throat.

"I believe we may have strayed from our initial topic," he said. He looked between her and Phantom as if he could not understand what had just transpired. "Shall we resume?"

"Yes!" Sam's response was a little too quick and much too loud to be casual, and _definitely_ way too high-pitched. She blushed harder and tried again. "Uh, yeah, that would be great."

Frostbite nodded. Then he told her the truth.

They were called _miasmiors_, a lethal subspecies of ghosts formed and controlled by The King. They seemed unimposing at first glance, but what they lacked in corporeality, they made up for in numbers and strength. Faint and translucent, their rippling bodies shared a subdivided core that constantly pulsated with the frequencies of their alpha, Pariah Dark. They were literally the formed artifacts his will, and fulfilled his bidding without an emotional restraint of any kind. Right now, they prowled the material world as well as several other dimensions, lurking in formless shadows and targeting prey.

Similar to ghosts, the miasmiors varied in class as some were formed differently than others. Some of them, the stronger ones, wielded a significantly denser ectoplasmic structure. Instead of the luminous wisps of their weaker brethren, they were solid and skeletal, their structure disturbingly similar to that of humans. Gnarled and twisted bones and skulls were accented by plates of shiny armor, all bearing the crest of their King.

And even stronger still, were the behemoths.

"They are the monsters of all monsters," Frostbite whispered in a voice that sent chills storming down Sam's spine. "Very rare, as they require great energy to form and control, but they are deadly. Their breaths bleed poison. Some are as big as mountains."

Sam was thankful for her empty stomach, because she doubted food would've withstood the churning.

Frostbite continued on about other terrible things as well. The Fright Night, the ghost from Sam's childhood, had once been a ghost of greatness, a challenger wanting to right the wrongs of The King. He'd failed, and now Pariah Dark animated the remnants of his tattered body, manipulated him like a marionette. The Fright Night became a symbol, one that screamed with the promise of death to all those whom dared to challenge his rule. And it had worked well, too, because the decimated remains of the rebellion had fizzled out into nothingness, never to be seen since.

What Sam had yet to understand was what Frostbite meant earlier, about the Infinite Realm's role in Dark's decent into madness. She asked him, and the yeti seemed to shrink before her eyes.

"For as long as I can remember, ghosts have always been misunderstood beings," be began, his voice thick. "The majority of Pariah Dark's story cannot be told by me, but by Great Elder, who resides along the high drifts of Cinomrah. What I can tell you is that through tragedy and mishap, Pariah Dark began his journey into kingship. It started in the human realm, as he had been the last of a now extinct species, and only went downwards from there. As I said, we are _all _to blame. The balance of our worlds is delicate and precarious, and currently we are drifting over the edge, straight into mayhem."

"So, what happens during the raids?" Sam asked. "You guys are being attacked by miasmiors?

"Yes," Frostbite replied. His usually cheerful face was drawn taut with the grimmest of lines. "They come in massive numbers and swarm us, straight through the rifts in the fabric of our dimension. We have yet to cover the physiological structure of the Multiverse, so I apologize if this is somewhat confusing. I have always been prideful of the Far Frozen being something of a stronghold, but the skeletal miasmiors are very powerful. We have trouble holding them back at times. With every raid they become stronger, more adept at combatting our defense."

"I'll say," Phantom muttered in agreement, flexing his hand into a fist as he spoke.

"So that's what happened to Icefang's family?" she asked. "They were murdered by them?"

Frostbite's expression darkened, red eyes glistening. "Yes," he said in a soft voice, "his mate and child were both murdered in a raid merely a couple moons ago. Their deaths are still very fresh in his heart. He will learn to accept and heal with time. He does not grieve alone, for we _all _have lost someone."

"Even you?"

"Even me." He looked down at his paws. Sam hadn't expected him to continue, so she was surprised when he added, "It was a long time ago now. I . . . I lost my mate, Artica . . . but not to miasmiors."

Sam's brows furrowed. "Then how did she . . .?"

Frostbite's voice was as cold as ice as he whispered, "Ghosts. She was murdered by ghosts."

.

.

Later that night, Sam laid her in bed, sprawled on her belly with her face cradled in folded arms. The room was warm and balmy on her bare shoulders, the white fur of her blanket kissing her skin. She watched the fire, content, yet utterly bored. She missed Tucker, Mr. and Mrs. Fenton, even her parents. Her eyes traced the curved masonry of the room, up into the blank expanse of her ceiling where an illusion of stars waited for darkness.

_Knock, knock, knock._

_The hell? _Sam rolled to her back and sat up in confusion. Knocking. Someone was _knocking _on the divider between her room and the outside corridor? It was late, _very _late, so it couldn't possibly be Tsuel, could it? No, Tsuel never knocked, which meant . . .

With a groan, Sam pushed herself out of her bed and padded towards the entrance. Reaching the barrier, she splayed her hands against the ice and peered through the warped surface.

Ectolasmic green eyes stared back at her.

"Phantom?" Sam exclaimed, too surprised to remember sarcasm. "What are you doing here?"

The telltale hissing noise of mystical ice receding into nothingness greeted her ears. She took a big step back and crossed her arms self-consciously over her chest, wishing she was wearing more than her raggedy thin tank top.

"Uh, hey," Phantom greeted lamely. The last remnants of ice disappeared into the bluish glow stemming from his palm. He'd finally changed out of his shredded clothes and now wore a white coat similar to Sam's, though his lacked a hood. Instead a thick cloak was draped across his shoulders, cascading to the floor in a river of royal blue.

"Hey," Sam responded in the same drawl. "It's like midnight, what are you—?"

"Do you want to go outside with me?"

She glared. "You're asking me if I want _to go outside with you? _The _hell _kinda question is _that?" _Suddenly a new thought occurred to her and her nose wrinkled in disgust. "That better not be a euphemism for something, 'cause if it is, I _swear _I—"

"No, no!" Phantom nearly shouted with his gloved hands waving in bizarre, too quick motions. Green colored his cheeks. "That's not—no. Just no." Now that the freakish waving ceased, a hand flew to the back of his neck. He took a deep breath. "I am merely inquiring if you would like to go for a walk outside. The sky lights are on display tonight, and I don't think it's fair for you to be left in here alone, y'know? You can say no if you want."

Sam leaned against the archway of her room with her fingers tapping thoughtfully on her arm. She stared at him, noted the way he shifted from foot to foot, uncomfortable and nervous as hell under her close scrutiny. She couldn't help but find that more than a little perplexing, considering how formidable he'd seemed earlier. How he could go from _that _to _this _was beyond her. He was intimidating and lethal one minute, then awkward and stumbling over his words the next.

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. "Do you have like, split personality disorder or something?"

Phantom blinked at her. "What?"

She shook her head at him, fingers still drumming along her forearm. She should say no, tell him off, then hightail to her bed where sleep awaited her. She should walk away right now. Walk away because Phantom was a ghost and ghosts were evil. She should also punch him right in the face, or his core because . . . because . . .

"Does Frostbite know you're here?"

"No . . .?"

Sam grinned wickedly. "I'll grab my coat."

* * *

A/N: And so, the plot thickens!

Oh my gosh, guys! It has been way too freaking long! You have no idea how LONG I have been staring at the half-completed version of this chapter. It just _refused _to be written! It's currently 3:30am and I have decided that I no longer give a shit. I'm done growling and swearing at this thing. I REALLY hope it isn't too much of a train wreck. I'm not gonna lie, I fangirled MAJORLY the whole damn time I was writing the arm touching thing. It was just so…forbidden…agh, I dunno. I really hope it has the same effect for you as it did for me! Their first bits of banter there had me smiling to myself the whole time, because that wasn't a planned component of this chapter. It just…happened. Sam also made me laugh at the end. She's such freaking rebel and I love her! (Remember, she's never been out in the Far Frozen after dark.)

There's still a lot more technical stuff to explain, but I figure I'll save that for later chapters. Small doses of technobabble work best accompanied by heaps of disguised flirting and sexual tension, right? Right? Seriously though, I am getting really excited. Two or so chapters from now and things will start to get realllllyyyyy interesting. ;) I CANNOT wait for them to happen myself!

And hey! I finally got myself a Tumblr. The link is in my profile. I have no idea how to use it so any help would be awesome!

Sleetjaw belongs to the amazing **CaptainOzone**. Read more of him in her story Shift! Seriously, do it!

-Roar

(OH! Also, just a heads up! I'm going to be doing another MAJOR update on older chapters. So far only Chapters One and Two have had the makeover. You should all check them out. There's a big difference! I'm going to do the others as soon as I find the right motivation. Three needs it BAAAAD. So yeah, keep an eye out for that!)


End file.
